


this hope as an anchor for the soul

by annejumps



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Bottom!Erik, Canon Disabled Character, Charles in a Wheelchair, M/M, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, top!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6504283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has been on his own since his parents died while being experimented on—they were a bonded Sentinel-Guide pair. It's been Erik's life mission to find and destroy facilities that experiment on Sentinels and Guides. Meanwhile, he's hoping he won't ever come online as a Sentinel himself.<br/>Charles, a professor whose studies include the Sentinel-Guide gene, has been waiting a long time for his Sentinel to come online. But when he finally does, it seems he isn't interested in bonding....</p>
            </blockquote>





	this hope as an anchor for the soul

**Author's Note:**

> For [X-Men Big Bang, Round 4](http://xmenbigbang.livejournal.com/)!
> 
> First of all, thank you to my artist, [shamingcows](http://shamingcows.tumblr.com/post/144017758564/art-for-the-xmbb-entry-this-hope-as-an-anchor-for)! ([AO3 art post](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6779923)) Thank you also to [afrocurl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/) for running this mini-Bang!
> 
> My primary beta was [niniblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack), but [theapolis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theapolis/) also was tremendously helpful, as was my dear Liz! Thank you all so much. Any remaining mistakes are my own!

Erik had been on his own for more than a decade, and he liked it that way. 

The loss of his parents when he was fourteen, once raw and immediate, had faded over time, like an old scar gone white with age. Even so, not a day went by that he didn’t think about them. They’d suffered for what they were, and eventually been killed for it. Erik was determined to put a stop to the degradation, the terror people like his parents faced, were still facing.

His mother had been born with the Sentinel gene, giving her heightened senses; his father, the Guide gene, designating him as her anchor, the only one who could calm her and help her control her abilities. They’d bonded young, and had been desperately in love. 

Inseparable even to the end. 

Being registered as holders of the Sentinel and Guide genes marked them as targets for those who would have them as test subjects. There were agencies that still saw people like them as little more than freaks. Taken into custody, Erik’s parents were experimented on as a so-called captive bonded pair. 

The “medical research” largely consisted of overstimulating a Sentinel and testing the effect on their Guide—essentially tormenting them both, under the guise of “learning.” It was a long way from their role in the distant past: an almost mystical status, seen as the caretakers of their villages, the guardians of their people. On top of that, Erik’s family was Jewish—his people been subjected to horrors over the generations for that as well.

Erik had been kept in the facility too; one night, from out in the hall he’d overheard two lab-coated workers discussing the deaths of his parents on the tables in one of the exam rooms, with complete dispassion as if they were discussing the breakdown of two cars. While Erik listened in disbelief on his cot, he heard their footsteps approaching the open door of his room, and then in a sudden burst of panic and rage he slammed the heavy metal door closed before they reached it—without touching it—and locked it. 

On a rush of adrenaline, confused about what was happening even as he knew he had to get away, Erik pried open the window frame in a shower of broken glass, shoved his metal-framed cot against the wall, jumped onto it, and climbed out, heedless of his bleeding cuts. Gates, barbed wire, fences, and doors moved, parted, and bent before him, easily. 

He ran down a dirt path, which led to a road, which led to a city. It was still dark, and it started to rain. He ran in the mud, his lungs burning, tears and rain mixed on his cheeks.

His parents had no friends or family in this country. At fourteen, Erik was on his own. If he hadn’t made his way back to their temple, where he was at least known and could receive some aid, he still wasn’t sure what he would have done. 

Asking for help from his school was not an option—he’d no doubt have ended up being reported to the state, and back at another facility. He’d taken turns staying with members of the congregation until he was old enough to live on his own. At that point, he was able to focus more fully on his plan, and on developing his unusual abilities, which he kept secret.

Erik was doing to do whatever he could to avoid the fate of his parents, to stop this from happening again. He had no idea why he had these particular powers, but he spent years trying to hone them, to train himself. At some point, after hearing snatches of stories in the news about other people with strange abilities, called “mutants,” he decided that was what he must be. 

He’d found the facility where he and his parents been imprisoned, where his parents had been murdered, and destroyed it using his powers, in a whirl and screech and bang of flying metal sheets and rebars. He’d found and destroyed several others since then.

It would, however, be easier to avoid the fate of his parents if he didn’t have the Sentinel gene. 

He knew he had it, from the experiments they’d done on him. He knew it was latent, lying in wait. He wondered if it had anything to do directly with the mutation that gave him his ability to control metal, or if that was something else entirely, something else that made him different, a target. A weapon. 

A mutant, and a Sentinel.

He’d passed thirty without coming online, without experiencing that sudden and immensely painful onset of enhanced senses that signalled that he was a nascent Sentinel in need of bonding with a Guide. 

At thirty-two now, he was starting to hope that he could bypass it entirely, that he’d never be that exposed, that vulnerable, that much in need of anyone else. A Guide could stop him, prevent him from carrying out his plans. Even though Erik would be fighting for their kind, a Guide could stifle him, control him, out of a drive to keep him safe. But true safety was never an option.

The current place to which his research on who was experimenting on Sentinels and Guides had led him to was Bethesda, home of the National Institutes of Health, where he set himself up in yet another nondescript hotel room. 

For the most part, he never stayed anywhere very long, constantly on the move, but at the back of his mind he felt an urge, one that grew over time, that called him to establish a home base. He tamped the thought down every time he was aware of it arising, because there was simply no way he could pause in his activities now. Possibly he never could. But still the urge nagged at him. For whatever reason, associated with it were his memories of his childhood home, his parents. He supposed he must want something like that for himself. The truth of it was, he sometimes envied them the closeness and solidarity they’d had, even if it had indirectly led to their doom.

Bethesda didn’t seem to be any different from the other places his research had led him, other than the fact that it was the closest he’d been to the Northeast United States in several years. As he settled in on his first night with some takeout, he turned on the news with no real interest. 

As night fell, he realized he was starting to feel strange. At first he thought it was the takeout, but this was different, somehow. Soon enough, he was in pain, aching all over his body, his head hurting worst of all. 

Smells were overwhelmingly strong: the detergent the hotel used on the bedding and towels, the food downstairs. Every noise in the vicinity was excruciatingly loud, making him wince; he could hear people throughout the hotel, out in the parking lot. It was like a hangover, but much, much worse. Normally, drinking water would help, but even water was unpalatable. He didn’t so much sleep but spend the night in a half-awake, pained daze.

As dawn broke, it was with a sinking dread, feeling worse than he ever had before in both body and mind, that Erik began to be afraid he wasn’t going to escape his fate as a Sentinel.

\-------

Charles woke suddenly, with a gasp.

He had to take a few moments to steady and orient himself before he could check the clock. 2:57 a.m. 

One burden of his telepathy was the occasional bleeding-over of nightmares from people sleeping nearby, whether known to him or strangers. He’d gotten better at shielding it over the years, training himself, but from time to time, it still happened.

This, however, was very different. For one, there was no one around. For two, even though he was awake, he could still feel it, not as an echo or a memory but as a current happening.

Nightmares from the minds of others brought with them fear, absurdity, terror, trauma; but this was a physical pain as well, almost like that of a fever dream, but very real. This was evidence of actual physical distress, a mental and physical crying out with little regard for anything other than the need for someone to put a stop to it, because the person experiencing the pain couldn’t assuage it by their own power.

This was the coming online of a Sentinel.

Granted, this was not something Charles had personal experience with. He’d only read about it in his studies, which were extensive considering the Sentinel and Guide genes were two of his specialities. But his knowing was more than simple academic knowledge. This was something he recognized, bone-deep; something that was calling out to him. 

Calling out to him as a Guide. 

_His_ Sentinel was coming online.

Charles blinked at the ceiling.

He’d passed his thirtieth birthday with no hint that his Sentinel was out there at all. Charles had begun to think perhaps his Sentinel was dead, with no guarantee of another taking their place. Even with his telepathic abilities, he wasn’t able to seek them out—before the gene activated, there would be no use, as it was essentially undetectable without Charles testing the DNA of approximately everyone in the world, something that even someone like himself with all his advanced degrees in genetics and biology wouldn’t be allowed to do, were it even possible. They’d want to know why, and Charles didn’t volunteer the information that he carried the Guide gene any more than he advertised that he was a mutant with the power of telepathy. There were still many who regarded Sentinels and Guides with curiosity and suspicion at best, nefarious intent at worst, just as they did mutants.

Not having a Sentinel had made Charles feel incomplete, in a way that was different and perhaps more intense than not having the use of his legs. He’d become accustomed to the wheelchair since his accident, and to the care and various routines he now needed to undergo. But he’d never gotten used to feeling as though a part of him were missing. 

Now, feeling his Sentinel’s pain—the growing need for the two of them to bond as Sentinel and Guide, so that Charles could soothe them, guide them, manage them—Charles groaned, holding his head. Every instinct in him wanted to help, but he didn’t even know who this person was, or where they were. Sentinels usually were responsive, eager to relieve themselves of pain and begin the bonding process, starting with going to a registration office. But this one seemed oddly closed off, even though Charles knew the pre-bond connection between them would be little more than a telephone line of sorts when it came to direct communication anyway.

But there was no choice in the matter. He had to find his Sentinel. For both of them.

\-------

Daylight stirred Erik to an approximation of consciousness; he had a splitting headache, and the feeling that something deep inside him had awakened, changing him irrevocably. 

Every inhale was still agony—scents were too strong. Lights and colors were too bright for his eyes. He was sensitized to the feel of his sheets, every brush of which was rough against his skin. The clock radio’s alarm was a hideous clamor; he reached clumsily to turn it off, then pressed his hands to his face with a groan.

He caught his mind calling out desperately for his Guide—whoever that was, wherever they were. He knew he’d been doing it in the night, too. He found himself wondering whether his Guide couldn’t sense him, or wouldn’t be able to find him.

Erik knew the connection between Sentinel and Guide only began when both of them were ready to bond, at least in theory. This usually meant they’d both matured, and also were in close enough physical proximity for the connection to begin to form. On the one hand, as far as he knew, only a Guide would be able to help him, and the pain would only go away after they bonded; on the other hand, Erik didn’t want to bond. He didn’t want that permanent connection, or anyone having that kind of power over him.

Lying here in pain, however, it was harder to remember that.

\-------

Throughout the day, Charles could feel the connection between himself and his Sentinel growing stronger—as strong as it could grow, given how little they had to go on when it came to their other halves. He wasn’t sure how much of the growth and his ability to sense it could be attributed to his psionic powers as opposed to just his Guide instincts.

All he knew was that he was getting a sense of his Sentinel as a person, and it was… utterly fascinating.

His Sentinel didn’t seem aware of Charles’ looking-in. Charles felt like a voyeur. He would feel guilty, but it wasn’t entirely under his control. His Guide-mind of course wanted him to learn about his Sentinel, the better to be able to help.

Gradually it became clear that his Sentinel was male, and about Charles’ age. What Charles could sense of his mind was extremely interesting, unique with an underlying depth of pain, going far back in his history. Charles didn’t know what he looked like, or anything more than his gender, approximate age, and the feel of his mind, but he was already becoming… invested.

Charles had to find him. His Sentinel needed his help.

Of course, there was also the fact that Charles himself was in psychic and physical pain because they were apart. 

\-------

Several days into his Sentinel ordeal, Erik actually felt the presence of the Guide. There was someone in his mind, and they’d been there for a while. His coming online was being spied on. The connection was still forming, despite his hopes that it might stop.

 _Get out of my head_ , he thought loudly and forcefully, immediately upon realizing someone else was there. _I don’t want you here. I don’t want a Guide._

He felt briefly triumphant as the Guide flinched. Then the Guide spoke, in his mind, in a man’s English accent. _I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m incapable of leaving you entirely. Our bond—_

 _There is no bond_ , Erik spat. _We are not bonded._

The Guide sighed, sounding pained, weary. Erik almost felt guilty, but that was gone as soon as the Guide addressed him again, sounding patronizing. _We might not be formally bonded, but our connection has started to form. Once it starts, there’s no way to stop it. I must tell you, though, that in addition to being your Guide, I’m also a mutant. I’m a telepath_.

Erik went from bristling at the Guide’s tone to reeling in shock. A mutant? _I’m a mutant_ , he thought without considering the wisdom of saying so, something he’d never told anyone else. 

_Ah, lovely_ , the Guide said, sounding surprised and pleased. Erik refused to react to that. _Please_ , the Guide continued, _tell me who you are, how to find you. I can help you, I can ease your agony. You know I’m the only one who can_.

 _I don’t want you to find me_ , Erik thought, sharply. _I don’t want to be under your control_.

 _It’s not c—_ the Guide started, and then abruptly went silent, as if trying to compose himself. _It’s not like that. It’s help_.

 _Then I don’t need your help_ , Erik said. _Leave me alone_.

 _I’ve told you_ , the Guide said, sounding a little more desperate but no less patronizing, _that’s not an option. I have to find you. It’s the best thing for us both_.

 _You can’t decide that for me_ , Erik told him. 

_It’s not me deciding!_ The Guide sounded almost angry now. He seemingly took a few beats to calm himself. _It’s our genes. Our genes made us mutants, you seem to accept that well enough. They’ve also made you a Sentinel and me a Guide._

_I don’t— So I just have to accept that, I just have to give in?!_

_It would be easier to just do that, yes. Don’t you agree? You’re in agony, I know you are. I can help you. Please. At least tell me your name._

Erik said nothing. He tried not to even think of his name, and wasn’t at all sure of his success.

The Guide sighed again. _I could take it from your mind, but I won’t. Do you know, since I first felt you coming online I’ve sensed your mind. I like what I’ve seen. I daresay I’ve grown fond of you, stubborn and recalcitrant as you are._

Erik sighed, impatient. _Is this supposed to charm me?_

The Guide chuckled softly. _It seems you’re impervious to charm, my friend_.

 _I’m not your friend_ , Erik said.

 _No, you’re my Sentinel_ , the Guide said. With quiet determination, he added, _And I will find you_.

\-------

Charles rubbed his temples, exhausted. He’d withdrawn from his Sentinel’s mind as much as he could, although of course, as Charles had told him, there was no way he could completely disentangle himself. And Charles could feel an echo of all the distress and agony the Sentinel’s new abilities were giving him, with no one to help him manage them. It was massively frustrating, when it would be so much easier if the Sentinel would just acquiesce and let Charles find and help him.

There were, of course, ways to bring Sentinels and Guides together. But those required each party to be registered, and Charles wasn’t at all sure his Sentinel was registered. And for it to work, both parties had to want to find each other. At the very least, one should have the other’s name. Charles had never heard of a situation where a Sentinel or a Guide had the opportunity to bond but refused to do so. The longer the bond was delayed, the worse off both parties were, and bonding usually took place as quickly as possible. Perhaps this Sentinel was strong enough to withstand the pain of being unbonded longer than most others would be able to. Perhaps not. Regardless, Charles had no idea how much longer either of them could go on like this.

Of course, if he were able to determine where his Guide was, Charles was sure he could simply pluck his Sentinel’s name from his brain. He could turn his mind, make him think all he’d ever wanted was to find and bond with his Guide. He was more than capable of it, by the measure of his raw ability. 

But Charles couldn’t countenance that. He’d seen too much of force during his childhood from his stepbrother. Charles was no brute, and he’d not utterly corrupt this bond by starting it with a lie borne of force. No, he’d have to persuade his Sentinel. 

He felt rather like someone trying to lure a stray cat in for petting.

Charles was patient, and good at persuasion, even when he wasn’t using his powers. But this—this was a challenge unlike any he’d faced previously. 

\-------

Erik was awakened the next day by a voice in his head. The Guide’s voice. 

_You have a very strong mind, my friend_.

 _What did I tell you? And I’m not your friend_. Erik felt groggy, worn from his days of discomfort and pain.

The Guide continued regardless. _Any other Sentinel would have broken by now._ The Guide laughed, sounding tired but almost fond. _I intended to admonish you, but that sounds like praise_.

 _Is it your intent to break me, then?_ Erik asked, undeterred by the Guide’s attempt at buttering him up.

 _No. I mean that the pain of coming online usually… steers Sentinels toward bonding. Haven’t you experienced a zone-out yet?_ The Guide sounded concerned.

 _Wouldn’t you know if I had?_ Erik countered.

 _You must be exceptionally mentally strong, then_. The Guide was impressed. _You’re quite resistant to my telepathy, as well. I’m assuming that’s natural? You didn’t learn to block telepaths? Remarkable_.

 _Flattery will get you nowhere_ , Erik said, not revealing how oddly proud he was, although perhaps the Guide already figured it out. _Now, I have things to do and I suggest you get out of my head. No spying_ , he added. That was all he needed: a nosy Guide overhearing his research and plans and putting a stop to them.

 _It’s not sp— Fine. I’m off to take my medication for the pain you’ve been causing me, anyway,_ the Guide added, sounding wry.

Days later, when Erik flew to New York to do reconnaissance on a research facility he’d heard was conducting experiments on Sentinels and Guides, he realized he felt much better. He was still in pain, yes, still had a dull headache and still felt that underlying urge to bond, but it was lessened. Erik wasn’t sure why, but he was starting to hope that he might have finally bested the urge to bond, that he might no longer be trapped in his need for a Guide.

Arriving at his hotel room, he felt the Guide nudge his mind. _You’re feeling better too, aren’t you?_ The Guide sounded excited. _Have you changed location? Maybe you’re closer to me._

 _None of your business_ , Erik said loftily, trying to ignore his pang of disappointment. The Guide was probably right, much as he hated to admit it. A lesser geographic distance was probably the reason for his decreased pain.

 _Tell me where you are_ , the Guide urged, gently. _It would be so easy. It would solve everything, don’t you see?_

 _It would be the beginning of many more problems for me_ , Erik retorted.

The Guide huffed in annoyance. _This is bloody ridiculous. I’d be solving your problems. You’re closer to me—you have to be. Isn’t it a relief, how much better it feels with you closer? It can go away entirely. It can go away entirely if you just let us bloody find each other_.

 _Temper, temper_ , Erik said, amused despite himself that the Guide, heretofore largely as calm as a schoolteacher, could get so worked up.

The Guide sighed again. _Sorry. I’m supposed to be guiding you, aren’t I? Not the other way around._ His tone became wistful. _You know… under these circumstances, I must say it’s hard not to feel like a failure_.

On his back on the uncomfortable hotel bed, Erik sighed, pressing his hands over his face. _Don’t guilt trip me_.

Wryly, the Guide responded, _Why, is it working?_

 _No_ , Erik scoffed. _Save your br— your thoughts_.

 _What would work?_ the Guide wondered. _Brute force?_ There was a flatness to his tone that seemed to express his distaste for the notion. _Seduction?_ he continued, mental voice becoming more of a purr.

Uncovering his face, Erik stared at the ceiling and said nothing, keeping his mind as quiet as he could. That was something he hadn’t considered. A very dangerous something. The Guide’s chuckle sounded pleased, damn him. But he didn’t say anything further, making it clear to Erik that he was taking his leave for the time being.

It was possible Erik felt just a little bit disappointed at the diminishment of his presence.

\-------

So his Sentinel was a hard nut to crack, but he wasn’t impenetrable. There was hope. That hope kept Charles buoyed throughout his commutes to the classes he taught at Sarah Lawrence, his reading texts and and composing lectures, everything he did with the underlying discomfort and headaches of waiting for a bond. He hadn’t told anyone yet that his Sentinel had come online; they’d want to know what was taking so long, and Charles wouldn’t know what to tell them. His TA, Hank, and the head of his department, Moira, would be relentless with their questions, he knew.

Charles’ remark about seduction had been intended as a joke, and when it suddenly turned out rather more serious, Charles hadn’t been sure what to do. He had decided to withdraw before he complicated things further. As interesting as it was to know his Sentinel might be receptive to flirtation and seduction, that wasn’t really the path Charles wanted to take, at least not yet. No, first he needed to earn his Sentinel’s trust. 

Flirtation was tempting, however, and Charles thought it was rather one of his strengths. Perhaps a little of it wouldn’t hurt. 

Many, if not most, Sentinel and Guide pairings eventually became romantic, sexual, or both. There were exceptions, but Charles could admit to himself that the Sentinel-Guide pairing that struck him as ideal was one with devotion, love, sex, passion. If he had to think of it in the context of what he’d personally seen growing up, the ideal seemed closer to what he could remember his mother having with his father, certainly not the neglect his stepfather eventually showed her. 

He’d secretly cherished the thought of having such a bond for himself, even as he got older with no sign of his Sentinel coming online yet. Now, faced with the reality of it and the cards he’d been dealt, he wondered if he would need to set aside those hopes, possibly for good. Certainly he could be in relationships with people who weren’t his Sentinel, and he had been in the past, but circumstances were changed. No relationship could equal what this one was meant to be. If they couldn’t make it work….

But there was no sense in thinking this way, Charles decided. He had to keep hoping.

\-------

Erik went forward with his plan of attack as if he’d never started coming online; his discomfort was lessened anyway, and he was mostly able to ignore it when it came to focusing on his mission and his powers. 

He had followed his usual MO: confirmed his research, determined targets, then launched. The facility in question did in fact actively perform “research” on Sentinels and Guides; therefore, it was all decided. After making sure there were no Sentinels or Guides locked anywhere inside, one night he began.

It wasn’t that he was against physical confrontation, direct combat, and killing when it was called for—quite the opposite, in fact, and he’d done it before. It was just that it was easier to commit this level of total destruction with no humans present to witness him or attempt to stop him. Luckily, this particular facility was not in a populated or well-trafficked area.

First, wearing dark clothes, he waited in the shadows until the security guard walked by, and from a distance wrapped him in discarded fencing while he yelped in surprise and then in anger and fear. Ignoring his continued protestations, Erik began pulling the place down and apart.

It felt not unlike conducting an orchestra: tearing apart bolts, ripping sheets of metal from their moorings, bursting pipes. Groans, hissings, rumblings, crashes echoing in the quiet night. The floors collapsing as their columnar foundations were shoved aside created booms that shook the earth. Most importantly, however, he had to destroy the equipment being used to experiment on the Sentinels and Guides. He bent everything, dulled it, broke it, scattered it. Whatever it took. He could feel it all, feel it yielding to him. 

It was over all too soon in terms of Erik’s enjoyment, but he didn’t have a lot of time on his hands. 

\-------

“Our next story,” the TV news anchorwoman said, sounding alarmed, “comes to us from White Plains, where authorities are concerned that a recent large-scale vandalism might actually be an attack carried out by a mutant or mutants.”

Charles looked up from his morning paper and tea. What was being described as a “large-scale vandalism” appeared to in fact be more like the complete destruction of some sort of facility.

“—medical research into special genes. Authorities found no trace of heavy equipment having been at the scene. A security guard described being—” and here the anchorwoman sounded incredulous— “tied up in fencing by an invisible entity.” She added, with a touch of disbelief, “A test found no drugs or alcohol in the security guard’s system.”

Charles reached out to his Sentinel’s mind.

 _Darling_ , he said, ignoring his Sentinel’s grunt of annoyance at being called that, _have you been up to mischief in White Plains in recent days?_

It would explain a lot. It would explain why they both felt better from being closer, certainly—White Plains wasn’t far at all. Charles folded his hands in his lap to keep them from trembling in excitement.

His Sentinel’s pause went on just a bit too long. _None of your business_ , he finally snapped at Charles, who couldn’t suppress a smile. _Don’t call me ‘darling’_ , his Sentinel added, sounding just this side of petulant, reminding Charles of a cat objecting to having its fur stroked.

 _It’s the Brit in me_ , Charles said by way of excuse. “Darling” was really quite a bit overfamiliar, but it had felt right. After all, this was his Sentinel. _And if you object so strongly, you might tell me your name, so that I might call you by it instead._

 _You want to know my name_ , his Sentinel said, _but you won’t tell me your own_.

 _You haven’t asked, but no, I haven’t. Pure oversight, I assure you. My name is Charles Xavier_ , Charles answered, hoping against hope that his Sentinel might use that information to try and find him.

\-------

Erik cursed himself for asking, and the Guide for actually responding. He’d been trying to make a point, and hadn’t thought about actually getting an answer. _I’m still not telling you mine_ , he finally told… Charles.

 _All right_ , Charles said, sounding happy. Erik sighed.

 _I’m not going to research you, if that’s what you’re hoping_ , Erik informed him. 

_Suit yourself_ , Charles replied, still sounding damnably agreeable. 

Knowing his Guide’s name with his Guide not knowing his should have given him the upper hand, even though Charles would probably need to know more than his first name to track him down anyway. But now Erik had to deal with being tempted to look up information on Charles. 

Erik felt he exercised remarkable control in not doing any research on him. He didn’t want to know anything more about him: what he looked like, what he did for a living. Knowing would make Charles more real, would make it easier for Erik to give in to wanting an end to this intense pain and discomfort. 

He could wait it out.

\-------

The day after Charles told his Sentinel his name, he woke up in the same pain as he had before the shenanigans in White Plains. His Sentinel must have left again.

 _Thank you for that,_ Charles sent to him. He got no response but for a mental huff.

He found himself thinking about what his Sentinel had apparently done in White Plains: destroyed a building, one where research was conducted on Sentinels and Guides. So his Sentinel was a political terrorist of sorts. Well. 

Judging from what had happened to the guard, his Sentinel could either become invisible or could use some sort of telekinesis. Very interesting. Charles wondered how he could broach the subject of his particular mutation with his touchy, private Sentinel. It wouldn’t be easy. But it was nice to have at least some idea of what he could do. 

(It occurred to Charles, fleetingly, that many if not most would be far more disturbed than he was by what he’d learned on the news about his Sentinel’s activities.)

As Charles sipped his tea and waited for his medication to begin working, he realized why his Sentinel must be so cagey: he assumed Charles would stop his activities. Of course. It made a great deal of sense. Charles wondered if he also hated himself for the perceived weakness of being a Sentinel, feeling it to be a violation of his independence, or if he just hated how Sentinels and Guides were treated (as curiosities, as freaks). Or perhaps both. And then of course there was the fact that he was also a mutant.

Charles had the hunch his Sentinel was on his own, or if he wasn’t technically alone, he felt alone due to his singular experiences. In that sense, he’d have more than a little in common with Charles.

Charles ached for him, breath catching at how bittersweet this was—so close to being together, so similar, Sentinel and Guide. If only he could comfort him.

 _You must be in my timezone_ , he sent to his Sentinel. _Am I right? Or else we’d be disturbing each other’s sleep. Or perhaps you’re a bit west of here_.

 _I don’t know, do I?_ his Sentinel returned testily. _You haven’t told me where you are, either, Charles_.

It was nice to hear his name “spoken” by his Sentinel. He’d like to hear it said in person. _You haven’t asked, nor do you want to know_ , Charles reminded him. _But I’m in North Salem, in Westchester County. It’s a suburb of New York City. That’s most likely why we felt better when you were in White Plains. It’s only half an hour away. Tell me, where are you now?_

 _Nice try_ , his Sentinel said. There was a long pause. _But I am on the East Coast_ , he added, grudgingly. 

Charles let out a sigh of relief. _Thank you._ He ignored his Sentinel’s quiet scoff. _Please. If you need me, come to the Xavier Mansion. Any time, day or night_. The fact that his Sentinel did need him was, of course, implied. Perhaps his Sentinel would prefer at least having it framed as a choice rather than a command.

\-------

Apparently Erik could only escape having a zone-out for so long.

He’d heard about them before, but it wasn’t until he was in the middle of one that he realized what exactly was happening. Oddly, he was staring at something so mundane as the patterned lining of an envelope when he hazily realized that he couldn’t stop looking at it, that its hatched pattern completely engrossed him. The minute detail, the repetition, the way it seemed to vibrate when he tried to look away. 

This wasn’t right, he thought distantly. He had to stop this.

But he couldn’t do it himself. Who could? He was almost able to remember. It was… someone…. His Guide. But he didn’t have a Guide, did he? He was unbonded. Oh! He did have a Guide. Charles. 

_Charles_ , he thought into the connection between them, feeling drugged and floaty. The pattern on the envelope shimmered in black and white, stealing his focus back from… oh… Charles.

 _Yes?_ came Charles in reply, sounding concerned, cautious. Erik tried to remember if he’d called for him like this before. 

_Charles, I can’t. I can’t stop… looking at this. This… envelope. I don’t… It’s so strange._ He laughed suddenly at how absurd it was, then felt a little jolt of panic. He truly couldn’t drag his focus away from the pattern. It was a miracle he’d been able to contact Charles. His head was starting to ache even more than it usually did these days.

 _Right_. Charles sounded more confident now. _You’re zoning out. I can help you_.

 _We’re not bonded_ , Erik replied distractedly. 

_No, but you’re still my Sentinel. I’m the only one who can help you out of this, bonded or not. Bonding just takes away the pain_. Charles’ mental voice was firm.

 _Yes, Charles_ , Erik said. He blinked, but could not look away from the damned envelope.

A pause. Erik was vaguely aware of the sensation that Charles was readying himself. _Right. Darling, I want you to listen to my voice. In order to be pulled from this zone-out you must focus on another of your senses, in this case I think sound. I know you’re not really able to hear my voice—unless, of course, you’re able to give me your phone number. Or to call mine._ He sounded hopeful. _Do you think you can do it, or are you too far gone?_

 _The phone’s next to me_ , Erik said, still staring at the envelope. Why couldn’t he tear his attention away from it?

 _Reach for it_ , Charles said. _And dial the number I give you_.

It took Erik some time—he couldn’t really break his gaze from the pattern for long at all, just enough to focus on the keypad for a few seconds at a go. He held the phone to his ear, and was dimly aware of the dial tone.

“Hello, darling,” purred Charles’ voice in his ear. Erik’s breath hitched, and he blinked.

“Now, where was I?” Charles continued aloud. “Oh yes. I want you to listen to my voice. And I want you to do as I say. I’ll pull you out of this, I swear it. It might be easier if I had your name.”

“Erik,” Erik replied.

“Ah.” Charles sounded surprised, and paused. Erik realized belatedly what had just happened, and knew he’d made a mistake, but seemed unable to dredge up much concern. Charles cleared his throat. “Yes. Erik,” he said, as if testing the name on his tongue. Erik felt a little jolt at hearing his name, a brief moment out of his fog. But again the pattern on the envelope captivated him.

“Erik,” Charles repeated. “Erik. Listen to me. Look away from the envelope, darling. Look at the floor. Look at your hand. Look somewhere else, and listen to my voice.” Erik was dimly aware of Charles stifling a laugh. “I feel silly telling you to do such simple things. But I suppose needs must; I’ve never tried to get someone out of a zone-out before, after all, since I’ve never had a Sentinel before.”

Erik felt a dim flare of indignation. Charles didn’t “have” him, and he wasn’t going to…. The pattern swirled before his eyes.

“Anyway, yes,” Charles continued. “Listen to my voice, Erik. Focus on it. And try to look somewhere else, break your gaze completely. Here, I’ll read a book to you….” Charles sounded distracted for a moment, and Erik heard faint rustling as Charles presumably looked for a book. “Ah. Here we go.” 

He cleared his throat again, and his voice took on a “reading aloud” tone. “‘I have been thinking,’ said Arthur, ‘about Might and Right. I don't think things ought to be done because you are _able_ to do them. I think they should be done because you _ought_ to do them. After all, a penny is a penny in any case, however much Might is exerted on either side, to prove that it is or is not. Is that plain?’"

There was a fluttering of pages, and Charles started reading again. “‘Lancelot's castle was not forbidding. The old-fashioned keeps of Arthur's accession had given place to a gaiety of defense, now difficult to imagine. You must not picture it like the ruined strongholds, with mortar crumbling between the stones, which you see today….”

Charles’ rather deep voice was like honey, and Erik was aware of his skin starting to grow warm as Charles read on, describing the details of the castle. He sounded familiar with the text, never stumbling over a word. 

Erik blinked, closed his eyes for a moment, and realized his fog had cleared. “Charles,” he said, and heard the difference in his own voice now that he was no longer zoning out. He dared to glance at the envelope again, and found he was no longer drawn into the pattern.

“Yes,” Charles said. “Erik. Has it broken, are you all right?”

“So it would seem,” Erik replied. He liked the crisp way Charles said his name. It didn’t excuse Charles from asking for it in a moment of Erik’s weakness, but he still liked it.

Charles sighed, sounding relieved. “That was most likely very mild for a zone-out, but it was your first, was it not?”

“It was,” Erik confirmed. 

“You’ve managed to avoid them for so long. I’m worried another will come upon you that will be more severe and it will be harder for me to get you out of it at a distance, and with us unbonded,” Charles mused. 

“If it happens again, I’ll call you,” Erik said, terse. It occurred to him that Charles had his phone number now in his caller ID records, but luckily the phone was a burner. 

“That might not be enough,” Charles said. “Remember, if we bond, in person, not only will this perpetual discomfort go away, it will be much easier for me to help you if you zone out.”

“Right,” Erik said, dryly. “Thank you, Charles. I mean that sincerely. Goodbye.” He ended the call and sat there for a while. That zone-out had not been a pleasant experience at all, and he dreaded the thought of being overcome by an episode like that under any less convenient circumstances than being home alone. And Charles could be right: a phone call might not be sufficient in the future.

Erik had found himself wondering more and more often what Charles looked like. He found himself doing so now, and quickly dismissed the thought. It was no use thinking about it, because he wasn’t going to see Charles in person.

He was firm in that opinion until he realized that Charles could be useful to him, with the particular power Charles had—the power to read minds. If he could be convinced…. 

One of the likely “research facilities” Erik had been monitoring was in New York City; perhaps he should make his way back to Charles’ neck of the woods. It would probably still be possible to avoid formally bonding with him, too; perhaps with close proximity, the pain would be weak enough to be bearable. He could at least dangle the possibility of bonding in front of Charles to get him to help.

There would be little need to worry about Charles stopping him or controlling him if Charles were on his side….

\-------

For quite some time after speaking to his Sentinel, Charles felt very pleased with himself. He’d been able, as a Guide, to help his Sentinel—well, he was Erik now—out of a zone-out. It was clumsy and a little awkward doing it for the first time, and it would no doubt have been much smoother in person, but, well, one did one’s best, and ultimately it had worked.

He still couldn’t help hoping that Erik would come to him, and allow them to actually bond. It would, at least, be much easier to convince him to do so in person, even without his telepathy, Charles thought. The discomfort and pain they were both still experiencing would be eased if they were in very close physical proximity, and that alone would be quite compelling, to have that pain lessened with the promise of being gone entirely with the bonding. And how wonderful it would be to actually teach a class without a headache.

Several days later, it was a cold and rainy Saturday morning and Charles was sitting in his study, looking out the window and sipping tea, taking a break from reading through some journals. 

Suddenly, he was aware that someone was driving up to the house. They were alone, a single mind in a vehicle coming steadily up the drive. He attempted to read their mind, and met resistance. Which meant it was probably… 

Erik. Yes, it was Erik.

The housekeeper was off on weekends, so it was up to Charles to answer the door. Fumbling in his excitement, he set down his teacup, nearly spilling it, and wheeled out to the hallway. He hadn’t shaved this morning but hopefully he looked halfway decent, he thought fervently as he sensed Erik approaching the door.

\-------

The drive out from the main road was quite a long one in this rental car. Erik hadn’t expected it to be quite so rainy. He also hadn’t expected the “Xavier Mansion” to be so massive, despite the name. 

As he approached the door, stepping under the overhang to get out of the rain, he was distracted from his chagrin at not having brought an umbrella by his sensing a wheelchair somewhere in the foyer, and on whoever was in the wheelchair, a watch—an expensive one, judging by the fine movement. It seemed, judging from a cursory scan, that this person was alone. That Charles, most likely, was alone, and in a wheelchair.

_Charles?_

_Erik?_ came the answer, almost immediately, breathless in his mind. _Are you really outside my door? Come inside. Honestly, you must be chilled to the bone in this_.

Presumably Charles’ knowledge of what Erik had done in White Plains led him to conclude that Erik was able to open locked doors. In answer, Erik closed his eyes and concentrated on the locks on the front door, and the knob. While they were all suited to the front door of a mansion such as this, they were simple enough work for his powers, and the door swung open on a great front hall of paneled oak.

Erik already knew to look down to the level where someone in a wheelchair would meet his gaze, but when his eyes actually met Charles’, he still felt a jolt all through him. At the same time, he realized his pain, his headache, was almost gone.

It was cloudy out, but the thin gray light lit up Charles’ brilliant sky-blue eyes, his pale skin just slightly flushed. There was a hint of ginger stubble on his jaw, and freckles dusted his nose. A blue v-neck shirt offered Erik a look at the hollow of his throat, framed neatly by a thick navy cardigan over nicely proportioned shoulders. He was biting his red lips, obviously trying not to smile too widely, and he ran a hand self-consciously through his thick brown hair. 

Erik realized he was feeling a wave of welcome and delight and warmth in his mind that surrounded him like batting—Charles’ real telepathy, not the simple telephone line that was their other underlying connection—as Charles spoke aloud, soft and low, letting himself smile fully. 

“Welcome, Erik.”

\-------

“Hello, Charles.”

They looked at each other then for a few moments, Charles drinking in Erik with his gaze while Erik blinked at him. Erik was tall and lean, with a handsome, chiseled face and keen gray-green eyes. He was also, Charles suddenly remembered, wet in his long dark red wool coat, water actually dripping from his short gingery hair.

“Oh, good Lord! Where are my manners! Erik, please, get in here and dry off. There’s a fire in my study just off the main hall, please—hang up your coat and I’ll get you some tea.” Charles was nearly vibrating with excitement. He wanted desperately to ask why Erik had come, if he had finally decided they should bond, but didn’t want to spook him—Erik would eventually tell him why he was here. He wheeled back toward his study, leading the way, grinning to himself as he heard the front door close and lock with a brief display of Erik’s apparently considerable power. Yes, Erik was indeed a mutant, and one who could control metal, no less. Fascinating. 

He directed Erik where to hang his coat near the fire, and after exhorting Erik to make himself at home Charles poured him a cup of tea (leaving it black, after skimming Erik’s mind briefly to determine his preference—Erik was too utilitarian to waste time adding cream and sugar, much to Charles’ amusement. Charles appreciated the ritual of it, personally) from the electric kettle he kept in his study, for easier access than if he’d kept it in the kitchen. He found a tea towel, as well.

Erik sat down on the large leather sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he looked around, somber and curious. He turned his attention fully to Charles as he was handed the teacup and the towel, gaze flicking up and down him.

“Does it surprise you that I’m in a wheelchair?” Charles asked. He didn’t think it did much, judging by what he was able to sense of Erik’s thoughts, but he wouldn’t mind Erik saying it himself. Also evident from Erik’s thoughts was a hint that Erik did find him attractive, so that at least was gratifying.

Erik furrowed his brow as he set the tea on the table. “It’s a bit of a surprise, but it doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, and rubbed the towel through his hair. “Thank you.” His voice was sonorous in person, deep and lightly accented.

“Your accent, I’m sorry—where is it you’re from?” Charles asked.

“I was born in Germany,” Erik said, sounding distracted as he put the towel beside him. “Charles, there’s a slight bend in your left wheel that’s—if I could—” 

“Of course,” Charles said, nodding. Erik closed his eyes for a moment, and although Charles couldn’t feel anything happening to his chair, Erik’s brow relaxed and his expression went a bit softer, and he nodded. “There.” He smiled, all too briefly. “I fixed some other things on it too,” he added.

“Marvelous. Thanks very much,” Charles said. It hit Charles—Erik was actually here, his Sentinel was here, in person, close enough to touch. Suddenly Charles wanted very much to touch him. He ached to do it.

“Look—” he began, and then stopped himself, with a chuckle, feeling his face go warm. “This might sound strange, but… I’d like to touch you, if I may. Just… your hand.”

Erik blinked at him, nodded, and after a long moment, held his hand out to Charles. It was cool to the touch, his fingers long and slender. Charles felt the urge to warm him up, and he squeezed Erik’s hand, gently. A feeling of contentment spread over the connection between them, and Charles inhaled slowly, savoring it. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked.

Erik’s lips had parted just slightly, and there was a hint of longing in his gaze as he looked at Charles. “I do,” he finally responded, taking Charles’ hand more completely in his own, squeezing back after a moment of hesitation.

“My headache’s almost gone,” Charles said, wry.

“Mine too,” Erik said quietly, and swallowed. Then he slowly drew his hand away, as if he didn’t really want to, and picked up his tea.

“Yes, warm yourself up,” Charles said as Erik took a drink, wanting to sound encouraging but feeling a bit bereft at the loss of contact. He shook himself mentally; it was nothing. They had just met, after all, and Charles was lucky Erik was even here in the first place. “It’s almost lunchtime—are you hungry?” Erik was so thin—Charles was anxious with the instinctive need to feed him, his Guide gene at work—or perhaps that was just inherent to his nature. “The cook won’t be here until evening but I was going to heat up some tinned soup and have a sandwich, I can do that for you as well.” 

He wanted very much to ask how long Erik was planning to stay, if it might include dinner, but tabled that question. Erik would tell him in time.

“That would be fine. Thank you, Charles.” Erik straightened up a bit, and looked around, glancing over at Charles’ desk, on which his tea still sat. “Have I interrupted you in your work? What is it you do?”

“Oh, I was just reading through some journals, that’s all. Fairly typical Saturday morning during a semester. I’m a professor of human genetics at Sarah Lawrence,” Charles replied.

“Human genetics,” Erik repeated, with a slight emphasis on “human,” his eyebrows slightly raised. “What about mutants? Sentinels? Guides?” 

Charles frowned. “All still under the category of ‘human,’ I’m sure. Although that may change in the future.”

“Do you study them too?” Erik’s jaw had tightened, his gaze almost seeming to bore into Charles. Charles held up a hand, trying to project an air of calm, wanting to ward off any agitation.

“I don’t teach any courses on them, but I know a great deal about them, yes.” He added, “I haven’t done any direct research myself.”

Erik looked as though he were planning to state something further, but instead he looked across the study, his gaze fixing on Charles’ chessboard. Following his gaze, Charles asked, “Do you play?”

“I do,” Erik replied. As Charles watched, the pieces on the board seemed to move themselves from their places in a half-finished but forgotten game to neat rows on either side. “Shall we? As long as you don’t read my mind to anticipate my plays.” He was being ironic, but Charles gave him a rebuking look anyway.

“I won’t read your mind without permission, other than surface thoughts I can’t help catching,” Charles told him.

“But if you read it anyway… would I know?”

“Not if I didn’t want you to, no,” Charles admitted.

Erik nodded, as if his curiosity were sated—for the time being, perhaps.

\-------

Erik had expected a mansion, and was still surprised by how large it was. He had expected Charles to be pleasant enough, but Charles was in fact incredibly intelligent, charming, and attractive. He was seeming even more attractive as they continued to play chess, talking all the while. And he was definitely flirting, with the way he kept looking at Erik a little too long and then away, making Erik want him to look back despite himself. The way he kept biting and licking at his lower lip had to be about more than just concentrating on his next move—he was such an able player he had to be pretending at difficulty. That was a little incensing. 

“Are you holding back?” Erik finally asked. But Charles just arched a brow at him, and smiled. Charles ended up winning that game, and Erik immediately asked for another.

The question was when to tell Charles what he had planned. Perhaps when they had lunch. But it seemed they couldn’t stop playing chess and talking, although the talk was stilted at times—there were many things Erik wasn’t going to discuss, and he managed to avoid the subject of bonding entirely. 

The chess, however, was a conversation of sorts in itself, a keenly interesting one.

Chess with Charles was almost like foreplay. 

Erik tried to keep that thought to himself. Evidently Charles didn’t notice it.

Finally Erik’s stomach grumbled, and Charles paused musing aloud about Darwin’s finches, holding his chess piece in the air, and arched a brow at Erik again. Whatever was on Erik’s face must have amused him, because he laughed, bright blue eyes twinkling. “Lunch, then!” Charles said. “Follow me.”

Erik followed him the considerable distance to the kitchen. It felt very strange, quietly being led to a pleasant lunch of sandwich and soup in an enormous mansion by the Guide who wanted Erik under his thumb, but Erik reminded himself he couldn’t tip his hand yet.

He helped with lunch where he could—lifting pans, stirring the soup, using the knives—as Charles watched with evident delight. Erik was simply being a good guest—one who wanted into Charles’ good graces, the more likely he might be to agree to Erik’s terms of aiding his cause with his powers without bonding. 

At the table, some time after they’d started to eat—Erik was ravenous—Charles said, “Well, Erik, I’m sure you didn’t come out all this way to play chess and eat sandwiches. Was there... anything in particular you wanted to discuss with me?” He sounded and looked so hopeful Erik had to look away for a moment.

\-------

Erik cleared his throat. He looked very serious. “Charles,” he said, “I did in fact come here to talk to you about something very specific.”

“You’ve noticed,” Charles interjected, unable to help being a little breathless, “how much better you feel now that you’re here?”

Erik stopped, and looked at him. He seemed to have been thrown off. “Well, yes,” he admitted, “but I’m actually here to ask you about something else.” Wildly curious, Charles resisted the urge to delve into Erik’s mind. “I think you could be of use to me,” Erik continued. “With your gifts.”

“My gifts,” Charles echoed, stomach sinking. Wary, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Your telepathy,” Erik said. “You were, of course, right about White Plains. I… have a cause, you might say.”

Charles nodded, appetite receding. “And… how do you think I might be of use to your cause?” If Erik had noticed his going still and speaking more quietly, he gave no signs of showing it.

“I don’t know the full extent of your powers, but at the very least you’d be incredibly useful as a mind-reading spy.”

Charles set down his spoon. “I don’t use my powers like that and I have no wish to be exploited,” he said flatly. 

His Sentinel was finally here, after all this time, and he just wanted to use him.

“They’re experimenting on people like us, Charles,” Erik said, impatient. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Do you suppose you’re differentiating yourself from them by wanting to manipulate and exploit me?”

“You’d rather sit here in this mansion and do nothing?”

“You literally have no idea what I’ve done for people like us,” Charles said.

“All that power at your disposal. Why not use it?” Erik continued, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Speak with care, my friend,” Charles told him, keeping his voice deceptively low and calm. Erik, however, got the message, judging from how he flinched, almost imperceptibly. 

“You can’t order—” Erik started and stopped, and visibly calmed himself, with seeming great effort. They were quiet, but Charles sensed it didn’t take telepathy to feel the maelstrom of what went unspoken between them.

“So you were never here about bonding,” Charles finally said.

Erik shook his head. “I’ve told you, Charles. I don’t intend to bond.”

“And I’ve told you that isn’t how it works, Erik.” Charles felt as though he were trying to pin Erik with his stare. 

“Read my mind,” Erik said suddenly. “Read what I’ve gone through, feel my pain. Maybe then you’ll understand why this must be done.”

“I don’t want your pain,” Charles said, shaking his head even as Erik got up, then knelt by him, as if in supplication. Sighing, Charles reluctantly touched his fingers to Erik’s temple. Were it not for these particular trying circumstances, Charles would have very much liked a kneeling Erik with his stubbled cheek against Charles’ palm. But that was neither here nor there.

The pain that slammed through Charles when he accessed Erik’s memories was tremendous—happy childhood forever overshadowed by a disastrous violation and loss, what should have been an insult to Erik’s very spirit, but which had honed him into a sharp blade, focused on seemingly one thing. 

And that one thing wasn’t bonding with his Guide.

Erik had first felt his powers in a time of panic and grief, and ever since then he’d thought they were for the primary purpose of destruction, even killing. Now he wanted Charles’ powers to be used for destruction and killing as well.

Charles opened his eyes and drew back, pulling his fingers from Erik’s temple with a slight brush of his fingertips. It did feel exceedingly good to touch him. Charles felt the urge to take his hand again, but fought it.

Erik looked up at him. “I don’t want your tears,” he said, and Charles realized his eyes were brimming. “I want your help.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered, shaking his head. “I can help you, but… not the way you’re asking.”

“Even knowing what my parents went through for being a bonded Sentinel and Guide, you still want me to bond with you.” Erik stood, his back to Charles. “Even knowing what’s being done to people like us, you won’t help me.”

“It’s not the right way,” Charles said. “Not destruction. Not killing.” Erik didn’t move. “You would use me for my powers but you won’t bond with me.”

“I… might be willing to negotiate on the bonding,” Erik said, still facing away.

Charles’ heart leapt in hope at hearing Erik sound willing to change his mind, but almost immediately he felt a wretched disappointment. “Then your price for the bonding we both desperately need is that I help you destroy and kill. I’m afraid not. I’m not one for brute force, Erik. Observe.” 

With no further preamble, as Erik turned in curiosity, Charles sent him a barrage of memories of his stepbrother, punching, kicking, and hitting him in the various halls and rooms and stairways of the mansion, shouting at him while his mother did nothing, more interested in passing out on the couch, whiskey glass or cigarette in hand. Their stepfather preferred Charles to his own son, and Cain had taken it out on Charles, and been beaten for it by his father; his mother was neglected by her second husband, and fell into alcoholism. Charles and Cain eventually reached a sort of peace between them, but Charles never forgot how it felt to be at the mercy of someone more powerful.

Erik looked startled. “I thought—”

“I think perhaps you thought that because I live in a mansion, my life has been an easy one. With all due respect for your life and your pain, it has not. But even when my powers manifested I didn’t seek any more retribution on my stepfather and stepbrother than they deserved. I could have had them kill themselves or each other, but I didn’t.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Long story short, I’m living here now, and they’re not.”

“You’re saying I should simply… wait for justice.”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t commit murder.”

Erik laughed shortly. “Too late for that, Charles.”

“Erik. Together, if we bond, we can find a way. I can guide you. We can work together. But not the way you’re suggesting.”

“You’re decided, then? The bond or nothing?” Erik’s expression was shut off, and he wouldn’t look at Charles.

“Again, Erik, it’s not my decision. We will both be in pain for the rest of our lives if we don’t bond. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to help you with another zone-out when they get worse.”

“We’re going in circles, Charles.” Erik ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, and huffed out a breath of frustration. 

“Indeed.”

“I’ll be going,” Erik decided, folding his arms. “I was hoping I’d be able to convince you, and there’s no point in my staying if I can’t.”

“But you just got here!” Charles exclaimed. “You came all this way, and it’s raining out. You really ought to stay for supper. You’re welcome to spend the night as well.” Realizing how what he’d said might be interpreted—how he actually wished it would be interpreted, but didn’t dare hope, not after that conversation—he cleared his throat. “That is, there are plenty of guest rooms, you’re welcome to stay.” 

He hoped his face wasn’t turning pink. He did, however, catch a flicker of interest in Erik’s expression, which vanished right away as Erik seemed to compose himself, as if remembering that he was trying to keep his distance from Charles. Pity… such a pity. Well, it wouldn’t do to get to thinking on that, not now.

Erik watched him, apparently thinking, looking somber, his brow furrowed. 

“Couldn’t you do with a few more hours of diminished pain?” Charles added, wry, but smiling. “I’m sure I could.”

Erik set his jaw, and opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. 

\-------

The truth was, Erik wanted to spend the night. And he was sure Charles could sense it. Not only was this mansion warm and dry, but, well, Charles was here. Though the latter was precisely the problem. He knew close proximity to Charles would make him want to touch him, and that could lead to Charles’ bed, which was the last place he needed to be if he wanted to keep his distance from Charles’ will.

 _Seduction_ , he remembered Charles purring in his mind.

But that was about his possibly convincing Erik to bond. Maybe Erik could seduce him into working with him….

As tempting as that was, the risk was too great. The very fact that Erik was here pondering such a plan of action was proof enough of how easily he could be in trouble. Charles was a telepath; in the heat of the moment he could convince Erik to bond with him, in a moment of weakness. And frankly, Erik wasn’t entirely sure he needed his psionic powers to do so.

The idea shook him to the core.

“I can’t stay here,” Erik finally said. “I’m sorry, Charles.” 

Charles sighed, and regarded him for a moment. “I could make you stay,” he said, and Erik’s heart flipped in a momentary panic before Charles added, “I could. But I won’t. In time, I believe you’ll discover the better path.”

“And bond with you,” Erik supplied dryly.

“Possibly.” Charles shrugged.

Erik noticed again how nice his shoulders were, but that was neither here nor there. He laughed. “Your hope is touching, Charles, bordering on delusional.”

“There are worse things to be,” Charles said, gentle, a hint of a smile on his face. He almost looked fond.

Erik had to admit he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of putting distance between himself and Charles once again, to experience that physical and mental pain. He remembered how helpless he’d been in the throes of that bizarre zone-out. He _had_ been able to call Charles, and Charles had talked him through it. That might not work in the future, but… well, it would have to. He’d cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

And right now, given how resistant Charles was to the idea of aiding Erik’s mission, the thing for Erik to do was get out of here before he started falling for Charles in a way that wasn’t even directly related to bonding. By then, it would be too late for him to wrest back control over his will, as a Sentinel or as a man who just didn’t want an attachment.

He had said he was willing to negotiate on the bonding, but Charles had rejected that. Erik wondered, though, if it were possible to bond to stop the pain and discomfort, and then break the bond, or otherwise separate. Somehow, he didn’t think Charles would agree to that particular plan—at least not if he were told about it beforehand.

Erik cleared his throat, realizing Charles was smiling at him, knowingly. “You aren’t reading my mind, are you?” Erik asked, dry.

Charles laughed softly. “It doesn’t take a mind-reader to know you don’t really want to leave.”

“I have to,” Erik said. 

Charles ran a hand through his hair. “I know you believe you must,” he sighed, resigned. “I can only hope you’ll come back. Eventually.” Erik didn’t respond. Charles looked down, biting his lip, and then back up at Erik again, and if Erik was becoming distracted by something that simple, he really did need to go. Realizing he’d been leaning against the counter, he shoved off. 

“I’ll take you to get your coat and show you to the door,” Charles said. 

Unable to shake the nagging feeling that he should stay the night, Erik let Charles lead him back to his study, put on his now-dry coat, and went with Charles to the front door. It had stopped raining, at least, so Erik refused Charles’ offer of an umbrella. Charles nodded, and licked his lips absently, looking thoughtfully up at Erik.

“Goodbye, Charles,” Erik said, and turned to begin walking to his car before he could give in to the temptation to stay.

\-------

As a result of Erik’s little visit, Charles had a most stimulating dream that night, of the sort he hadn’t had in some time. Inconvenient as it was, he was almost glad.

And as a result of Erik’s leaving, he once again had a terrible headache.

 _Good morning, Erik_ , he said dryly through their connection, _and a happy Sunday to you_. 

_Charles_ , Erik replied, terse, perhaps a little strained.

As Erik had driven away and gotten further and further yesterday, Charles’ discomfort had increased. He was sure it was the case for Erik as well. Whether Erik had any inkling of his dream, or whether he’d had a similar one himself—Charles couldn’t help being optimistic—Charles didn’t know. He supposed it was possible that his powers might broadcast a sex dream down their Sentinel-Guide line.

 _I don’t suppose you had any particularly interesting dreams last night_ , Charles ventured.

 _I didn’t have much at all in the way of dreams last night. I was too uncomfortable to sleep_ , Erik answered.

 _I’m sorry to hear that_. Charles was sincerely regretful, but at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling a tad like saying “I told you so.” _I’ve had better mornings myself…. You know, one thing I’m able to do is cause people to go to sleep_.

_If you’re trying to make me feel bad about not staying—_

_I don’t have to make you feel anything_ , Charles pointed out. _Well, I’ve got to go take my headache medicine, I’ll leave you to your discomfort_.

Charles’ medicine, as well as his tea, had managed to stave off most of his discomfort in the past. Either the brief respite from it during Erik’s visit made the pain seem worse upon its return, or his medicine was no longer all that effective against it, he realized about two hours after he’d “hung up” on Erik.

This was worrying.

It was very possible that it was hitting Erik even harder. The Sentinel-Guide genes pushed their possessors toward bonding, and didn’t brook much in the way of opposition, Charles knew and was now experiencing more of firsthand. There was nothing to be done for it short of bonding or death. It seemed Erik was willing to risk it.

All Charles could hope for was that this was so excruciating for Erik that he’d be moved to return. And that was a strange sort of thing to hope for.

\-------

Erik could barely move. It was again like being hungover, only this was something he felt in his bones.

He did manage to get up, however, and to take the pills he’d been taking to try and diminish his headache ever since he started coming online as a Sentinel. They were not as effective as they’d once been, he realized with a sinking feeling. 

His own body, it seemed, was betraying him, compelling him to return to Charles and to bond. 

But perhaps after the bonding he could still leave. Yes, it was beginning to seem more and more as though that were the best option. He couldn’t continue his plans like this—he couldn’t do anything like this. The priority now was getting back to his work. Distance would allow him to concentrate on it once more: free of pain, miles between himself and Charles serving as a buffer keeping him from being manipulated so easily, keeping him from getting entangled with Charles.

The question now was how long he could hold out before returning to Charles, and how much dignity he’d be able to retain in so doing. 

On Tuesday night, just after sunset, Erik was back at Charles’ mansion, at his front door. The air was dry and cool. As he composed himself, Erik tried to bury any thoughts of his plan to leave Charles after their bonding, to lock them away as if in a safe deep in his mind. 

_Come in, Erik_ , Charles said into his mind. Of course, Charles knew he was here. He, too, must have felt the pain lessen as they neared each other. 

Erik unlocked the door, and swung it slowly open. Charles was sitting in the main hall, quietly regarding Erik as he approached, his hands folded in his lap. Even in the low light, his eyes were almost luminous. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Charles said. “I feel so much better with you here now.” He laughed, breathless, but didn’t say anything further, although Erik sensed he wanted to.

“I… feel better too,” Erik admitted, fingers curled at his sides, standing in front of Charles.

“Tell me that was the last we’ll ever have to feel like that,” Charles said, voice dropping lower, intimate even as it was slightly pleading. His gaze locked with Erik’s, and Erik was having a hard time looking away. At last, however, he did, off to the side, at the floor. 

“Erik,” Charles said, soft, “what was your father to your mother?”

Erik flinched, looking back at Charles, who continued. “Did he tyrannically rule over her? Control her every movement?”

“No,” Erik admitted, barely above a whisper.

“Did he help her? When she zoned out, when she needed help managing her senses, did he aid her, calm her?”

Erik sighed. This would be so much more bothersome if he hadn’t already decided to bond with Charles; Charles would have had to exert barely any effort to convince him now. “Yes. He did.”

“That’s all it is, Erik.” Charles smiled. “It is straining my neck a bit looking up at you in such close proximity—I wonder, could you…?”

Erik knelt, and without warning Charles reached out to touch his hair, almost petting him. “It is so good to have you here,” he said again. Erik groaned inwardly. Quite frankly it felt good to be kneeling in front of Charles, to be petted by him. He thought once again that Charles was dangerous, even without taking his mutation into account.

“Charles,” he said, mouth dry, “your telepathy.” If Erik was going to extract a concrete promise—as much as something might mean—from Charles about not using his telepathy to control him, now was the time to do it.

“What about it?” Charles asked. “I could use my psionic powers to control you. But I won’t.” Damn him, he was still stroking his fingers through Erik’s hair.

“And I’m just supposed to trust you?” Erik asked, trying not to smile.

“Yes, as I’m supposed to trust that you won’t, say, brain me with a candlestick or fireplace iron,” Charles said, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Fair point,” Erik acknowledged, “although of course, you could read my mind beforehand and stop me.”

“Trust,” Charles said, very serious now. “If in order to agree to bond with me, you need me to say I won’t use my telepathy to manipulate you into going against your wishes, consider it said.”

Erik pressed his lips together, and closed his eyes, occupied with the impact of what was about to be agreed to here. What would relieve their pain. 

(What he would be rejecting as soon as he could leave.)

Charles cupped his jaw, and Erik opened his eyes at the touch. “Erik. Will you bond with me?” Now Erik couldn’t look away from Charles’ gaze, and didn’t try to.

“Yes,” Erik said.

Charles looked at him for a long moment and slowly smiled, the delight and relief pouring off of him in waves. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Erik swallowed. “What does the bonding process entail, exactly?” he asked.

Charles’ eyes widened. “You don’t know?” he asked.

Erik frowned. “I don’t know the specifics,” he said. No doubt his parents would have filled him in, had they lived.

“Well, it’s quite simple, really.” Charles folded his hands in his lap. “We connect in a physical way through each of the five senses. Once we’re truly in sync, the pain lessens and eventually is gone entirely. And we’re fully bonded. You know it when you feel it, they say.”

“Do we need anything special in order to do this?” Erik was skeptical—this seemed too easy.

“Not ‘special,’ really. The Sentinel and Guide agree on ways to connect for each of the senses, and if it doesn’t take the first time—which is possible, but relatively rare—they keep trying new tacks until things sync.”

 

“What if they never sync?” Erik said. Perhaps this would be an out.

“I’ve actually never heard of it not working, ultimately. Once the Sentinel starts coming online and the connection starts to form, the bonding process eventually ends the pain. If the Sentinel or the Guide should pass away before the bonding can occur, the surviving partner eventually finds another, but it can take years.” Charles shrugged. “The sooner the better, I suppose.”

Erik nodded. Charles had a point.

“I know of several methods for each of the senses that have stood the test of time over the years. I’ll make a list, if you give me a moment. You can relax in the study and keep me company as I do.”

Erik followed Charles to his study and took his suggestion of making himself comfortable on the long leather couch. Charles got them each some tea, and settled in behind his desk.

It was clear he was happy to get started. “It is,” he began, “traditional for the Sentinel and Guide to share an orange, for taste. Is that all right with you?”

“It is.”

“And for hearing, there are several traditional call-and-response scripts we can read. Or two-part dialogues, as well. They vary in… sentiment. I’ve a book of them, we can find one shortly. All right?”

“Yes.”

Erik was distracted by the weight of what he was about to do. What he would subsequently walk away from. He concentrated on keeping that thought hidden from Charles, and evidently he was successful, Charles being caught up in making these plans.

“For smell,” Charles continued, “it’s usually the case that the Sentinel and Guide inhale each other’s scents. For sight I think we can simply sit and stare at each other, and what a trial that will be, eh?”

Erik snorted.

“Touch,” Charles said, and paused. 

“Holding hands?” Erik asked, dry.

“Well, yes. Sometimes kissing. Sometimes—”

“Sex?” Erik couldn’t help asking. 

It seemed Charles took a long time to answer. “Yes. Sometimes.”

“This time?”

“Is that what you want?” Charles sounded as though he was trying to keep his voice even and neutral.

It was a struggle to not say ‘yes.’ “No,” Erik said.

Charles’ expression betrayed nothing. “A kiss, then.”

“Fine.” That should be sufficient, after all. 

\-------

Charles rolled his chair up next to where Erik sat at the table in the kitchen, the mansion otherwise empty. Before them, he’d put out an orange, and an old book, containing their responsive reading. Erik looked a bit nervous, something Charles could only tell by a slight strain around his eyes, and the fact that he wasn’t saying much.

“It’s easy,” Charles told him in reassurance, and Erik’s expression twisted briefly in an almost fond annoyance.

“Almost too easy,” he retorted.

“What do you mean?”

“For something so momentous, I thought there’d be more involved than… eating an orange and listening to each other.”

Charles chuckled. “Well, don’t forget about the looking, the smelling, and the kissing.” He attempted to sound light, but felt his own face heating. God, Erik had taken the idea of sex off the table and Charles was still hot under the collar at just the thought of finally kissing him. He cleared his throat, but glanced up, to find a spark of amusement—and was that a bit of heat as well?—in Erik’s eyes. “Anyway, it’s simple, but it does the trick just by sealing the bond through the senses. And as I said, should it not work in this particular configuration, we can try other ways.”

Erik sighed. “I must say, I’m looking forward to being done with this headache.”

This was enough of a difference from Erik’s previous reluctance to admit to wanting anything to do with bonding that it was all Charles could do not to sigh in relief. “Well. It’ll be over with soon enough.”

“What do we start with?”

“It’s traditional to begin with the least intense and progress to the most intense. So we’d start with the reading. I’ll go first, as I said earlier. Listen mindfully.”

Charles opened the old book to the page he’d marked. There was a particular bonding-themed poem divided for two speakers there, one he’d always been rather fond of in terms of Sentinel-Guide bonding readings, although some thought it was a bit treacly and overwrought. As the Guide, he had the first section. He felt a bit breathless as he finally read it aloud to his own Sentinel, and had to take a moment after reading it to blink.

He passed the book to Erik, who had an odd expression on his face as he looked at Charles, but then cleared his throat and read his passage aloud. Charles closed his eyes to listen, to take in Erik’s voice and let the essence of it spread through him. 

There were two more sections for each of them. At the conclusion, after a long moment of silence, Charles set the book aside, and cleared his throat. 

“Now, the looking,” he said, turning to more fully face Erik, who mirrored his action.

They sat looking at each other, gaze traveling over each other’s faces. If Charles thought his face had felt heated before…. “You’re blushing,” Erik pointed out, low and amused.

Charles narrowed his eyes. “So are you.” Erik just grinned—an actual grin, the first Charles had seen from him—and didn’t deny it. 

“How much more looking is there,” Erik asked, sounding a bit throaty, after what felt like a solid minute of them staring directly into each other’s eyes, which was a bit dizzying.

“That should suffice,” Charles said, and swallowed, mouth dry. “Right. Smell.” He cleared his throat. “Lean in toward me, please, I’m sure that will be easier than me leaning toward you.”

Erik half-stood, and bent to sniff Charles’ neck. That of course brought him close enough to Charles for Charles to take a deep breath of him. He smelled clean, but it wasn’t all soap. He got a sense of what it was like for Erik’s enhanced sense of smell, and that he got a certain pleasure from it, from a scent he identified as Charles’. It made Charles’ blush again, feeling that from Erik’s mind, and he shifted back just slightly.

“I can’t imagine we’d need to do a great deal of that,” he said, and Erik sat again. Charles picked up the orange. 

“Who peels it?” Erik asked.

“You do it, you’ve longer fingernails,” Charles decided, passing it to him. “Then take a segment and feed it to me.”

“Feed it to you?” Erik peeled the orange, Charles watching his long-fingered hands as the scent of fresh orange filled the kitchen. “As in, put it to your lips?”

“That’s traditional, yes.”

“Well, let’s not break with tradition,” Erik said dryly, pulling away a segment with a faint wet sound and holding it up to Charles’ mouth. Erik’s fingertips brushed his lips and tongue just briefly.

The orange was sweet and juicy, and Charles welcomed its flavor. He closed his eyes for a moment, licking his lips, concentrating on the very faint hint of salt from Erik’s skin. When he opened his eyes, Erik’s gaze was focused on his mouth, at least until Charles took the orange from him and removed a segment, then held it to Erik’s lips. 

Erik, bowing his head a little and looking down in an oddly instinctive-seeming way that threatened to drive Charles a bit mad, opened his mouth for it, tongue rather deliberately brushing Charles’ fingers. He met Charles’ eyes as he chewed and swallowed. Charles was reminded after a very long time of almost having forgotten that intense and sudden sexual arousal did not necessarily have to involve full feeling below the waist.

“Shall we eat the entire thing?” Erik asked.

“Hm? Oh, may as well,” Charles said, instead of responding with _I don’t know if I can take it if we’re not going to have sex after this._ He passed the orange back to Erik, who broke off a segment and fed it to him, after which Charles fed him one, and so on and so forth, until only the peel piled on the table remained. “You know, I am feeling quite a bit better.” 

Without thinking about it, Charles began licking the orange’s juice from his fingertips. Erik took his wrist and licked them for him, dragging a surprised, shuddering breath from Charles.

Erik shifted forward to the edge of his seat, as far as he was able, still holding Charles’ wrist, and pressed his lips to Charles’. 

On instinct, Charles wrapped his free hand in Erik’s shirt, clutching the soft fabric tightly and keeping him in place as he parted his lips against Erik’s, sliding his tongue into Erik’s mouth as it opened easily for him. 

The feeling that enveloped Charles then was like that of a sedative, or the first giddy flush of being drunk. His headache was already gone; this feeling was more than just an analgesic. This, Charles realized as he kissed Erik as deeply and thoroughly as he’d wanted to do for a while now, had to be the bond. 

It was the most intense, most beautiful feeling he’d ever had. It was what he’d been waiting for, and it was beyond his imagining.

There was what could be termed no less than a maelstrom of feeling between them, almost entirely due to the bond between them cementing; some of it, Charles knew, was due to his slightly less-than-controlled telepathy, creating a feedback loop between them, consisting primarily of Erik’s wonder and shock. 

After Charles increased his pull on Erik’s shirt, delving more deeply into the kisses, Erik suddenly pulled back with a gasp, sitting heavily back in his chair with surprising weight considering his slender frame. He looked dazed, eyes wide with panic, and released Charles’ wrist. Charles let go of his shirt in surprise until he realized that of course, Erik was overwhelmed by the rush and newness of the bond. “Darling, darling. Come here. On the floor,” he said, gentle but firm.

“It’ll be too much,” Erik croaked, shaking his head. 

“It won’t, that’s the point of this,” Charles said. “Look, Erik, either kneel on the floor or get in my lap.”

Erik’s eyes widened, and he seemed to snap out of his daze for a moment before deciding to kneel on the floor. Charles bent to wrap his arms around him, Erik arching up to be held. Charles felt a flood of compassion for him: this man with his usually intact self-control, resisting for so long the idea of giving any part of his care to someone else, now half-fighting his need for what he dreaded.

The angle was awkward—“This would be much easier on a bed,” Charles remarked without thinking, and felt Erik freeze for a moment—but Erik clung to him tenaciously, even as he seemed unwilling, as Charles experimented with properly using their bond and his role as a Guide to pull Erik back from being caught up in his senses.

His telepathy seemed to enhance the bond, and vice versa; it would, however, be difficult to fully stretch his legs—as it were—without violating Erik’s closely-guarded privacy, so for now, Charles decided to keep things simple and merely soothe him, nothing more.

“Calm yourself,” he told Erik as he felt out the newly strengthened connection, “concentrate on me. It’s done, we’re bonded, there’s nothing to worry about. I can help you now.”

Erik was definitely calming, but there was now a distinct strand of melancholy about him. It was, no doubt, his dislike at finally being chained to someone, as he seemed to see it. It stung Charles a bit, but there were more pressing issues at hand just now. 

\-------

Erik felt Charles in his mind—whether it was the bond or his telepathy, or both, he wasn’t sure, but right now he needed any port in a storm, and as much as he hated depending on someone in this way, the sooner it would be over with, the better.

He had surprised himself with how much he’d wanted to kiss Charles, especially after his resolve to avoid being seduced into compliance by him. For that reason, he’d been dreading the kiss—until he hadn’t been, anymore, and it had only seemed natural to kiss him. That had seemingly sealed the bond, and with Charles’ arms around him, his scent everywhere, and his voice in Erik’s ears, all Erik wanted even as his zone-out faded was to kiss him again, to touch him, to spend hours pressed against him, closer than close.

Leaving this was going to be even more difficult than he’d thought.

“Feeling better?” Charles asked, and Erik nodded. After a long moment, he reluctantly stood, a little shaky, blinking down at Charles, who reached for his hand. Erik let him take it.

“Are you going to stay the night?” Charles asked, and something in Erik’s face made Charles blush and look rueful. “I only ask because it’s natural for the newly bonded to want to be as close as possible to one another for as long as they can manage,” he added, “and I want you to know you’re welcome to stay. We can… sleep in the same bed, but we don’t have to actually… have sex.” He bit his lip, and Erik almost groaned. Not having sex with Charles was going to be torturous, but giving in would mean Erik would be giving himself over entirely to Charles. 

Nevermind that the concept was sounding better and better as Erik got more and more used to the bond. 

But at least the pain was gone. He was almost euphoric, just from that.

“I’ll stay,” he said. And honestly, he couldn’t imagine leaving right now. He’d give himself some time—how much he’d need remained to be seen—and then move on.

“Are you hungry?” Charles asked. 

“No,” Erik said, after a moment of thought. “But I am exhausted.”

“Yes, as am I. I hadn’t realized how much. We’ll go to bed shortly,” Charles decided, and Erik shivered despite himself. All he wanted was to curl up in bed with Charles, and it was the last thing he needed to be doing. “I have a rather lengthy routine I’m obligated to go through every night, but you needn’t worry about that—I’ll show you to my room and you can go ahead and sleep, if you like.”

Erik wanted nothing more. And it was terrifying.

They accessed Charles’ suite by elevator, and Erik was nearly asleep on his feet by the time they entered the bedroom. It was large, sumptuous, paneled as every room in the mansion seemed to be. The four-poster, king-size bed itself was rather low, to accommodate Charles, and Erik looked at it with longing, ignoring the underlying anxiety he felt at the thought of spending the night in it with Charles.

“Don’t even think about sleeping in your clothes,” Charles was saying, and Erik turned to look at him, startled.

“I mean,” Charles added after a pause, “I think my pajama trousers might be too short for you, but you can borrow a pair of Hank’s, he sleeps down the hall at times he has occasion to stay over.”

“Hank?” Erik said sharply.

“My TA,” Charles explained, a brow raised. “You’ve nothing to worry about there, I assure you.” Erik said nothing to that, in part because he was nearly falling asleep. “It’s a very busy time of year for me, as I’m sure you’re aware, but you needn’t worry: I’ve already told Hank I’ve found my Sentinel and he’s already prepared to take over in my stead.” Charles opened a drawer of an antique-looking chest, rooted through it, and pulled out a pair of pajama pants. He tossed the pants to Erik, who caught them, although he felt like he was swimming through molasses to do so. “Get dressed, and get into bed—I’ll be back shortly,” Charles said, gathering his own nightclothes and wheeling off to his ensuite.

\-------

When Charles completed his nightly ablutions and wheeled back to his bed, he took a moment to admire what was currently adorning it.

Erik was spread out over the duvet, clad in only those pajama trousers, on his stomach and seemingly sound asleep. In the low light from Charles’ side table lamp, he looked gorgeous, skin mouth-wateringly smooth, back and arms sleek and nicely muscled. 

As he got himself into bed, Charles was thankful for the age-old instinct that made a newly bound Sentinel sleepy and desiring only to doze in the arms of his or her Guide. He wanted closeness to Erik, and for the time being, this might be his only way of getting it. Not that, of course, Charles was going to do anything more than sleep alongside him. In its way, that was almost enough. (Almost.) He’d been wanting this for a long time, after all. And perhaps it was just as well that Erik was over the duvet and Charles was under the sheets. 

Charles himself was fairly exhausted—for all he was thrilled with these developments, it had been a draining day. He was asleep almost immediately, content as he hadn’t been in ages, possibly ever, due to the presence of his slumbering Sentinel, whose mind felt quite at peace, what he allowed himself to read of it. 

Several hours later, his alarm went off, the one that woke him up so he could turn himself. He’d forgotten to warn Erik about it, he realized with chagrin as he heard Erik’s muffled groan.

“Isn’t it the middle of the night?” Erik asked, sounding confused and drowsy, voice husky with sleep. He blinked at Charles in the low light.

“I’m sorry, Erik,” Charles told him. “I neglected to inform you. That’s the alarm I have set to make sure I wake up and turn myself in the night.”

“Ah,” Erik said, nodding. “Why am I not under the covers?” he asked, seemingly of the room at large, as Charles moved himself into a new position.

“You fell asleep before you could get under them, apparently,” Charles said, settling in again and watching as Erik pulled the covers over himself, lean limbs still clumsy with sleep, grumbling to himself. Erik shifted closer, ultimately settling in against him before dropping off again, putting an arm over him. 

Charles hardly dared breathe, savoring the skin-on-skin contact, Erik’s scent in his nose. Erik’s closeness was largely due to post-bonding stupor, Charles reminded himself, but even so.

When the alarm next woke him after dawn, he was essentially being used as a pillow by Erik, and as much as he would have liked to remain lying there, he did need to move. “Erik,” he murmured, and kissed his temple for good measure, unable to resist.

Erik grumbled softly. Charles dared to run a hand down his back.

All at once, Erik seemed to wake up and remember where he was, and he sat up suddenly, almost comical in his surprise as he blinked down at Charles. Charles didn’t miss Erik’s quick glance over his bare shoulders and chest, or the pink tint to his ears. 

“How are you feeling?” Charles asked, amused.

Erik cleared his throat. “I’m fine,” he replied, a little breathless. 

“Come out of the post-bonding haze yet?”

“I would have appreciated having been warned that would happen beforehand,” Erik said, moving to rest his head against the headboard. Charles took the opportunity to move himself and go through his morning stretches, noticing Erik watching him.

“My apologies, it slipped my mind,” Charles said, “but I suppose at the time I was most concerned with getting us bonded, period.”

Erik sighed. “It was a restful sleep, nonetheless. My senses are still heightened, but I no longer feel so… washed out and exhausted.”

“Good,” Charles said. “I’m glad.”

Erik shrugged, guarded and attempting to seem non-committal. Charles could feel a tension emanating from him, and felt dismayed at the contrast to his relative openness the evening before. 

“We can go back to sleep, if you like,” Charles suggested. 

A curious series of expressions crossed Erik’s face in quick succession: longing, alarm, resignation, determination. Still fighting the bond. Charles couldn’t help admiring his resolve, his strength of will. He smiled. He had time enough to woo Erik. His Sentinel.

“Yes,” Erik finally said, features smoothing out again, mind still neatly walled off for the most part from Charles’ powers. And Charles wouldn’t pry. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

\-------

Erik’s resolve faltered as he stole a glance at Charles, sound asleep next to him and incredibly tempting. It would be so easy to lie back down again and kiss him awake, to accept his warm welcoming embrace and attentions….

Part of him was pulled so strongly he was almost overwhelmed. How much of that was himself wanting? How much of it was his Sentinel gene? What if he was well on his way to being unable to distinguish between the two?

It was now or never. He had to drag himself away from Charles, or he might never be able to.

He got up quickly, and dressed as quietly as possible. 

He made it to the car before he heard Charles’ voice across their connection. _Erik! What are you doing?_

Erik got into the car and started the engine. _The bond happened, the pain is gone. I have things to do, Charles_.

 _You can’t possibly be serious_. Charles’ voice had a tone of disbelief, pleading, and imperiousness at once. _Erik. Come back here._

 _I think you knew all along I didn’t intend to stay_ , Erik replied, terse, making his way down the drive from the mansion. 

_Erik? Erik!_

Heart racing, Erik accelerated, pulling away from the deep, strong urge that called him back to his Guide. He had to put distance between himself and Charles. He had to hope that he could live separately from his bonded partner.

At least the pain was over, he reminded himself. 

Strangely, the reminder left him feeling hollow. 

\-------

For a few minutes, though it felt like an interminable amount of time, Charles lay poleaxed by his own astonishment. He had never really thought that Erik would leave after they bonded. Erik had been less than enthusiastic to start, yes, but Charles had instinctively trusted that the way it would feel once they were finally together would decide Erik once and for all.

He couldn’t let himself compel Erik to come back to him. No, he would have to wait and have faith, once again, that Erik wouldn’t want to be alone anymore. 

And there was no guarantee he’d decide that, not at all. Erik was, to say the least, strong willed. And he’d been alone for most of his life, seemed to prefer it, even. 

Over the next few days, Charles accepted that he would have to keep being patient. Would have to keep hoping. Ignoring the way Erik seemed to have given no consideration to how this might be affecting Charles, or care how patient Charles had been….

Hope felt so fragile, however, considering they barely knew each other, for all they were bonded. It was possible that the connection between them just wasn’t enough. Would never be enough, now.

The pain of a delayed bond was gone, with a new pain now in its place.

It was a strange sort of limbo, being bonded but physically apart from his Sentinel, more or less closed off from him. 

Their connection nudged insistently at the back of his mind unbidden now, as a matter of instinct, reminding him that he should be looking after his Sentinel. In the days immediately after Erik’s leaving, Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a massive failure as a Guide, although he was unsure how much of that feeling was due to his Guide gene making him feel hounded, trying to correct his hapless foibles and force him back to the path it dictated. 

He knew, of course, that Sentinels and Guides could be apart for short periods of time with little trouble, but this wasn’t a business trip. This could very well be… permanent. 

Had he been more able to, he’d likely have pursued Erik himself, doing whatever it would take to track him down. And if he really tried, he most likely could, but no—Erik would have to make the choice. 

Erik would have to choose to come back to him. 

Sitting around the mansion fretting and waiting left him at loose ends and threatened to drive him mad; returning to work, however, would raise questions, as he was sure by now that word had gotten out that he was a Guide who’d bonded with a Sentinel. Coming back early with bags under his eyes would be no good, yet he had to get out of here. 

He called Hank, who sounded confused to be hearing from him. “Professor? You’re only three days into your vacation—I didn’t expect I’d be hearing from you until next week at the earliest. What’s going on?”

“I’m afraid my Sentinel has flown the coop,” Charles said with a weary laugh. 

Hank sounded even more confused. “What? Why would a Sentinel do that?” Oh, dear Hank. Things between them had never been on anything other than a platonic level, but it was somewhat comforting that Hank was honestly baffled at the idea of Charles’ Sentinel abandoning him.

“It seems he doesn’t like being tied down,” Charles answered, wry. He swallowed. 

“I didn’t think that was how that worked,” Hank said. “My understanding is the Sentinel gene and the Guide gene bring their bearers together and the bond keeps them that way. The Sentinel in particular requires close proximity to their Guide in order to keep their heightened senses under control, or else they risk zoning out—that’s the entire point of the bond. Not all bonds become romantic or sexual, but there’s still a very strong attachment that should—”

“Yes, thank you, Hank,” Charles interrupted. The man was a damned encyclopedia. “I rang you because I wanted to let you know I’ll be back at work tomorrow. I have to ask, Hank, that you not tell anyone what’s happened. Should anyone ask, just say I had to cut my vacation short, and leave it at that.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Right. Good man. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Thank you, Hank.”

This was not how he’d expected his bonding period to end, Charles thought as he set down his phone, slumping a bit as the demeanor he’d put on for Hank evaporated.

He’d hoped for Erik to come to him before and had been rewarded for his patience and optimism. He could only hope he would be again. 

\-------

In theory, with the bond completed and the pain gone, Erik should have been able to carry on as he had back before he’d come online as a Sentinel.

The reality wasn’t that neat.

The most obvious problem was his senses. Having spent most of his life with only above average acuity, he found that his new extraordinarily heightened senses were still a lot for one person to process and manage. Manage he could, but through sheer grit, and very often he found himself wanting, on a very deep level, someone’s help. 

More specifically—he could grudgingly admit it—he wanted Charles. His Guide.

Erik never allowed himself to call out for Charles through their connection, however, no matter how much he was tempted to or how strongly his Sentinel gene insisted on it. It was not easy, refusing his instincts, but little about his life had been easy, after all.

But he was surprised, too, that Charles hadn’t tried to contact him again since he’d left, let alone attempt to make him come back to the mansion. That was the opposite of what Erik had expected. 

He’d left with no warning because he didn’t want to risk either being controlled by his bond or manipulated out of going by Charles’ telepathic powers, and for the first few hours and then days after leaving he’d been bracing himself for an exercise of Charles’ powers over him, something he’d been prepared to resist. 

But evidently Charles had either accepted his leaving and no longer cared enough to contact him, or he was waiting for Erik to make a decision and come back on his own. The latter was far more likely. 

As much as it rankled Erik to think of Charles patiently waiting for Erik to “come to his senses” and crawl back to him, something about the idea made his breath catch uncomfortably in his chest. 

Charles had pledged to never use his powers to manipulate Erik against his will, and apparently he meant that. So far, anyway.

The fact remained, however, that Charles had refused to help him fight back against those who would destroy them. Right now, that wasn’t something Erik was prepared to overlook. 

He still had work to do.

Erik flew to Chicago next, to a university that was studying Sentinels and Guides. This was the furthest he’d been geographically speaking from Charles since they’d first started connecting. He wasn’t entirely sure what the distance would do—would it make it easier for Erik to live apart from Charles permanently, or prove it couldn’t be done? Regardless, this university had been on his list for a long time.

In Chicago, Erik had no more and no less sense of Charles than he had shortly after leaving the mansion—there was the baseline connection, nothing more. Charles gave no indication of knowing that Erik was further away, and said nothing to him at all. Quite frankly, Erik was starting to miss it.

Two nights into his trip, having infiltrated the university and begun his research and scoping of the area, he laid on his hard hotel bed and tried to contact Charles, just to see.

 _Charles_.

 _Erik?_ The reply was nearly immediate. There was a note of hopefulness in the way his voice ticked up on Erik’s name, yet at the same time he was measured, the hopefulness overlaid with reserve. _Are you all right?_

 _Yes_ , Erik replied. _I’m in Chicago_.

There was a wash of relief through the connection until Charles tamped it down. _I’m glad you’re all right. I was afraid something had happened. When you contacted me. All of a sudden_.

 _No, nothing’s happened. You haven’t contacted me, either, you know_ , he pointed out.

 _No, I haven’t_. Charles was quiet for as long as he seemed able to manage it, and then asked, _Why have you contacted me, Erik?_

 _I missed you_ , Erik answered.

After a startled silence, Charles huffed a disbelieving laugh over their connection. _You’ll forgive me if I’m surprised by that_.

 _Read my mind if you like. You’ll see I really do miss you_.

_But?_

_But I have things to do, Charles. Things you don’t approve of_.

 _At the same time, I won’t stop you_.

They were both quiet for a few moments. _Charles_ , Erik said at last, _do you really believe I’ll come back?_

Charles sighed down their connection. _I don’t know if I believe it, Erik, but I have to hope that you will. Good night_.

\-------

Two days after Charles heard from Erik, as he sat at his desk grading papers, he felt a sudden and overwhelming rush of feelings from him: pain, anger, a hunger for vengeance.

 _Erik? Erik, are you all right? What is it?_ Everything in him wanted to rush to his Sentinel’s side, to help. It was paining him not to be able to do it.

 _I caught them, Charles. I caught them red-handed, experimenting on Sentinels and Guides_. Erik’s voice over the connection sounded raw, wrecked.

_Oh, Erik, I’m so—_

_I killed them, Charles_.

_Erik—_

_I knew you’d stop me, I didn’t let myself reach out to you until it was over_. Bitterness seeped into the connection. Charles waited a few beats, closing his eyes, sending calmness to Erik as best he was able.

 _I told you, Erik, I’ll never manipulate you to go against your will. But you were hurting, you lost control. I could have helped you_.

Erik’s laugh was without humor. _They deserved to die. I was very much in control of myself then_.

 _I don’t mean to malign you. It’s just—there must be another path. Untempered, your anger, your pain will destroy you from the inside_.

 _If that’s what it takes. At least I’ll take some of them with me. Goodbye, Charles_.

 _Erik—_ But the connection was closed off to him. 

It took a great deal of effort not to reach out to Erik again, to wait until Erik chose to contact him. But he would have to be patient. He would have to trust that his hunch would eventually be proven correct. 

It was then an idea occurred to Charles, one which he might have only to mention to Erik in order for it to take root.

\-------

Erik woke up the next morning in his stark, colorless hotel room, mind set on getting to the airport and getting out of this town. Last night he’d been too worn out to leave just yet, but today he was more than ready.

In the shower, he felt a nudge in his mind from Charles, over the connection.

_Erik?_

_Peeking in on my shower, Charles?_ Erik couldn’t help smirking, even if Charles couldn’t see him.

 _Oh—_ Charles paused, as if gathering his wits. _Sorry, I’m—I must say I’m a bit thrown off to hear you in anything like a joking mood this morning, considering how we left off last night_.

 _That was yesterday_.

 _True enough. Erik, I won’t take much of your time. I merely wanted to ask you something_.

Erik poured shampoo from the tiny complimentary bottle and lathered it. With his heightened sense of smell, the cheap soap hit his nose and made his eyes water, but there was nothing to be done about it. _Fine_ , he said. After all, at least Charles was asking, not ordering. _Go ahead_. 

He scrubbed the lather through his hair, brisk and businesslike. While he wanted to wash off yesterday’s sweat and the stale air of the room, he didn’t want to waste a lot of time. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that they’d be able to track him here from the university. He wasn’t worried, but it would certainly complicate his plans. Besides, there was nothing for him in this town, and he needed to move on to the next stop.

_Erik, do you have a home?_

It was not a question Erik was expecting. _Are you asking if I’m homeless, Charles?_

_Well, not in so many words—it’s not as though you’re unable to live in one spot, should you choose to do so. You’ve clearly got money from some source or other. But I wondered—my understanding was that Sentinels were very territorial, that they felt the need to have a home ground of sorts, to watch over and protect. I wasn’t sure if you’d felt any urges like that._

Erik stood under the hot spray and made no reply for a few moments, watching the suds swirl down the drain. _I don’t know_.

 _All right. I was merely curious_.

 _Goodbye, Charles_.

Damn Charles. Erik had been trying to quash that undercurrent of nameless need he’d been feeling—in the middle of dealing with his heightened senses, he’d been ignoring the other new development as best he could. Something in him wanted, as Charles had put it, a home, a territory. Something like his parents had together—a safe place. But their home hadn’t been enough to keep them safe. Erik needed something as much like a fortress as he could get.

A mansion.

Erik leaned his head against the wall and laughed shortly, the sound tinny in the shower. Charles was too clever for his own good.

\-------

“Why are you here?” Charles asked, trying to keep his tone calm and mildly curious, in contrast to how hard his heart was racing.

“You were right,” Erik said, and Charles opened his mouth in surprise, at which point Erik hastily added, “About the need for a home.”

Charles took a deep breath, hoping he was disguising it as a resigned inhalation instead of an attempt to quell the even harder pounding of his heart. “Was I?”

Erik nodded. Charles had thought about seeing him standing there in the foyer countless times since he’d left: poised, solemn, his clean, lean lines a contrast to the slight fussiness of the creakingly antique decor around him. And now he was here, again. He was beautiful and Charles couldn’t let himself believe, just yet, that Erik had returned for good. No, not yet. Yes, he’d purposefully mentioned this topic to Erik in hopes his words would find their mark, but it couldn’t be that easy, surely.

“And….” Charles cleared his throat. “Where would you like this home to be?”

“Don’t be coy, Charles. Here, of course. It only makes sense. It verged on manipulation for you to mention the idea to me, but I’m willing to overlook that.” He looked around. “This place is a fortress, after all.”

“The castlelike qualities of my home are what ultimately sealed the deal for you?” Charles couldn’t keep a wry note from his voice.

“Is that not what you intended?” Erik tilted his head, just slightly.

“You have me there,” Charles admitted. “Still, my ego is a tad wounded.”

“Charles.” Erik tilted his head further, and arched a brow. “If you don’t know how attracted I am to you, you really must not be reading my mind.” Charles felt his face heat. “Am I welcome here or not?” Erik continued.

“Of course you are. But Erik, are you intent on making this permanent? Our relationship as Sentinel and Guide? Forgive me, but it’s not as though you haven’t left me without warning before.”

“I’ll warn you next time,” Erik said.

“That’s not funny,” Charles said, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from smiling. But the smile faded soon enough. “Erik, do you feel everything will be solved if you just… move in with me?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you understand that if you live here, with me, your... operations can’t carry on the way they have been?”

Erik looked at him a long time, and then away.

“Erik?”

Returning his gaze, Erik tilted his chin, defiant. “Our people need protection, Charles.”

Charles sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Erik. As your Guide, when I know you to be in pain, with your anger causing you distress…. Understand what that does to me, how much pain that causes me.” He paused. “I know there’s good in you, Erik.”

Erik stared back at Charles, longing and disbelief in his eyes. 

“I do,” Charles pressed. “No matter what’s been done to you, no matter what you’ve done, I sense that goodness, that potential. I can help you cultivate it. I believe therein lies the key to a different way of protecting our people. A better way.”

“What do you mean?” Erik sounded cautious; he hadn’t moved.

It came to Charles as a revelation. “We create a sanctuary for them. Here.”

“A sanctuary,” Erik repeated.

“Yes. A safe haven. Don’t you see, Erik, we keep them here, keep them safe—”

“Protect them.” Erik’s voice was rough with just those simple words. He swallowed, and blinked; Charles saw his eyes were glistening with tears.

“Yes. We can do this, Erik, I know we can. Here, together.” Charles reached out to him, suddenly feeling a strong need to touch him. With no hesitation, Erik stepped forward and took his hands, and Charles squeezed. “We’ll gather them, we’ll expose the wrongs that have been done to them.” Now Charles found himself needing to blink. “We’ll teach them how to use and control their powers, what it means to be a mutant, or a Sentinel, or a Guide.” 

And we’ll learn that for ourselves, Charles thought, as he watched the tension leave Erik, his face relaxing, his shoulders lowering ever so slightly.

\-------

“I’ve called Hank and told him to take over for me for the rest of the week,” Charles said as he rolled back into Charles’—well, now their—bedroom, where Charles had told Erik to go and relax while he finished up his work for the day. Erik hadn’t done much relaxing, however, even though he was stretched out on the bed, the covers turned back. He’d been restless, impatient for Charles to join him. 

It felt… _good_ being here. He’d have thought he’d feel trapped. Now that he had his fortress, however, he was in much better spirits. Charles wanted him here, and from a place like this he could launch however many avenging rescue missions.

And furthermore, he wanted Charles.

Now, there was no real reason that what Erik had been wanting couldn’t happen.

“So... that’s done,” Charles added, looking at Erik, one eyebrow raised.

“What do you need?” Erik asked. 

“Hmm?”

“To have sex. What do you need?”

Charles blinked at him, seemingly taken aback by Erik’s bluntness. “Er. Well. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting this tonight, exactly.”

“Do you not want to?” Erik tilted his head.

“I absolutely want to. It’s actually a very important aspect of a typical Sentinel-Guide relationship,” Charles began, and Erik interrupted him before he went into full lecture mode. 

“I’d want you to fuck me, if that’s possible. If I could straddle you.”

Charles swallowed. “The Viagra takes about half an hour to work, when it does work…. I don’t need it to every time, though. Sex means something different to me, now.”

“Does it?”

“Well.” Charles laughed. “A lot of it is the same as before, honestly, it’s just, I need a good bit more lead time, and… the nerves have concentrated themselves elsewhere.”

“How so? No—show me,” Erik said. Charles’ skin was tinged with a pink flush. Erik pictured him lying back in bed, face reddened, eyes vividly blue, sweat at his temple, veins standing out in his throat and his mouth open in a gasp. 

His thoughts must have shown on his face. The real Charles before him narrowed his eyes, and curled his lips in a grin. “Can I—” he said, gesturing to his temple.

“Of course.” Erik noticed the darkening of Charles’ eyes as he caught what Erik envisioned. “And… as a telepath, do you use your powers during sex?”

“Not usually.” Color high in his cheeks now, Charles shrugged, seemingly subdued by the question.

“Do you like to use them during sex?”

“It’s a challenge not to,” Charles admitted. “I’m stifling myself when I don’t.”

Erik shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to block yourself off from your powers that way,” he told Charles. “I want you to use them with me.”

Charles let out a slow breath, and withdrew from Erik’s mind with something like a mental caress, which made Erik’s lips part slightly as he felt it. “Give me half an hour. Please.”

“Anything you need,” Erik said, with a slight emphasis on “anything,” sounding a little breathless to his own ears. Charles rolled off to his ensuite.

So, spontaneity was no longer the default where Charles was concerned. That was fine. Anticipation had its appeal. Erik stripped off completely, and lay back on the bed. 

His bare skin was sensitized to the fine cotton of Charles’ sheets underneath him. The scent of Charles’ aftershave was in the air, and he was aware of Charles at the sink in his ensuite. 

Charles. His Guide.

“Charles. Come here.”

Charles’ mind reached out to him in curiosity and concern. When he discovered Erik was naked, the timbre of his thoughts changed entirely.

_Yes?_

_Come here_.

_I’m not—_

_If you’re otherwise ready, come here anyway_.

 _All right_. Some moments later, Charles rolled back into the bedroom, wearing only boxer shorts.

Erik sat up. They blinked at each other.

“Right,” Charles said, sounding a little breathless. He lined up his chair alongside the bed and transferred himself, practiced and efficient, as Erik watched. Erik thought he might be showing off his upper-body strength a little. No sooner was he settled than Erik was on him, bridging himself over Charles and kissing him, savoring the small gasp of surprise that resulted. But Charles caught up quickly and slid his hands down Erik’s back, his touch sure and warm.

 _Didn’t you know I wanted this?_ Erik asked through their connection.

 _I thought you’d taken sex off the table_. 

_Things are different now. I belong here_. Erik shifted back, blinking down at Charles, who looked like he was about to say something. Erik ran a hand down his solid chest, fingers brushing a nipple. Charles gasped, and Erik did it again. 

“Is this—”

“Yes,” Charles gasped out, closing his eyes as Erik palmed both nipples at once. “My chest is—ridiculously sensitive, ever since—” 

Erik bent his head to gently bite one of Charles’ nipples, and Charles’ hands went to his hair and pulled. Erik raised his head. “Is that a no?”

Charles shook his head, looking stunned. “No. Yes. Please proceed.” His skin was flushed, and he was biting his pink lips.

“I trust you’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” Erik said, bending back to his task. _Has it been a while, then, Charles?_

 _Might have been. I’m very busy, you know_.

Erik swirled his tongue around first one of Charles’ tightened nipples, then the other. _With my senses enhanced like this, Charles, I can taste so much better. The salt of your skin_.

Charles groaned, hands clutching at Erik’s shoulders. 

_Too much for you, Charles? I thought I was supposed to be the overly sensitized one_.

 _Hush. I’ve been waiting a very long time for this, you know_. Charles’ flat nails scratched at him.

 _We haven’t even known each other very long_.

 _I’ve been waiting for my Sentinel_ , Charles said, pulling Erik up into a kiss.

\-------

As it turned out, Charles didn’t need thirty minutes. Erik’s kissing him, licking him, touching him everywhere he was sensitized got him erect in half the time, and Erik was the one who noticed first, as he lowered himself over Charles. He paused, then, glancing down and then up to meet Charles’ gaze, and Charles looked down between them, where his shorts were noticeably tented.

“Is that a record?” Erik asked, sounding proud of himself.

“I think so,” Charles said, flushed and hot. He reached out to Erik’s mind, felt his smugness, his warm amusement and his own arousal and need. God, it was almost impossible to believe that this was his now.

“Good, that was my intention.” Erik looked around. “Where’s your lube?”

“Nightstand,” Charles said, distracted, eyes glued to Erik as he got out of bed and opened the drawer, opening it with his power but removing the plastic bottle by hand. 

“Metal container next time.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed, watching lean, naked Erik sit alongside him.

“Let’s get these off, then.” Erik set the bottle down and took off Charles’ shorts. He wasted absolutely no time getting lube on his hands, and then Charles’ cock. The efficiency was a plus, since Charles didn’t know how erect he’d be or for how much longer.

Erik straddled him, and then started to take him in, face flushed. Charles’ hands went to Erik’s taut thighs; the connection between them hummed, loud and strong. “Go slow,” Charles said, despite not being sure of how much time he had. “Let me watch you.”

“Go into my mind. Feel what I feel,” Erik told him.

Charles nodded, aware his fingers were trembling against Erik’s skin. To be invited to do this….

He had the sensation of Erik feeling himself sinking slowly onto a cock, his deep pleasure at being filled. He was moving his hips, a subtle rolling movement, and Charles framed Erik’s narrow pelvis with his hands as he shifted, slowly letting himself take Charles in completely. 

Charles sent him an idea of how gorgeous he looked like this, how utterly perfect, and then wrapped a hand around his sizeable cock, drawing a gasp from him. He felt from Erik’s mind what that was like for him too; it was bittersweet for Charles, being able to feel that in that way again. Mentally, he pulled back slightly, just enough to know what Erik enjoyed, how Charles should touch him: a very tight, squeezing grip, with a thumb rubbing over the tip.

Erik was starting to look less composed, his face flushed and his mouth open as he rocked his hips, down onto Charles’ cock and up into his hand. “Charles,” he panted, “how do you come?”

He knew what Erik was asking, of course. “If I’m turned on enough, I can have a psychogenic orgasm.”

“You come with your mind?”

“Essentially, yes.” At that, Erik visibly shuddered, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes for a moment, cock spurting out a bit of precome. “The nipple stimulation helps,” Charles added, and Erik immediately moved his fingers to Charles’ chest.

“Psychogenic orgasms can—oh—fuck, can take a while,” Charles panted at the feel of Erik’s pinching fingers, the focused stimulation taking him with astonishing speed to the edge where Erik had nearly had him before. 

“I think we can come together,” Erik rasped. 

“I’m not sure—”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to?” Erik asked, breathless, pinching Charles’ nipples in time with how Charles was stroking him and how he was riding Charles’ cock. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin. “I’m your Sentinel, you’re my Guide, you’re a telepath—”

“Say that again,” Charles panted.

“Say what again,” Erik said, and gasped as Charles squeezed him.

“What are you?”

Erik understood then, and grinned as he looked directly into Charles’ eyes and said “I’m your Sentinel. You're my Guide.”

\-------

Charles was nearly speechless for quite some time after he came, something Erik wouldn’t have thought him capable of. Truthfully, Erik was smug about it. 

Charles taking his time recovering was fine; Erik was admittedly exhausted, and content to simply lie against him, skin on skin, breathing him in and savoring the strength of the connection between them.

“What’s it like?” Charles finally asked, still sounding breathless. “Sex with enhanced senses.”

“Couldn’t you tell, or weren’t you in my mind just now?” That had been a singular experience—the uncanny presence of someone else’s orgasm in his mind, which had almost immediately triggered his own. Charles had actually needed to temper their reactions, calm them both down before the feeling got so intense they’d end up with splitting headaches, he said, which was partly why he was so worn out.

Charles laughed sleepily. “I’ll pay more attention next time. I’d like to hear you talk about it, though. I’m sure you don’t want me to read your mind every time I want to know something.”

“It’s… a lot,” Erik admitted. “I’ll have to get used to it, I suppose.”

“Mmm, yes you will.” Charles stretched briefly, and let himself relax into the bed again with a sigh, and winced. “I shouldn’t tell you this, as you’ll be smug about it, but you really did a number on me just then. I think you’ve caused me to have post-orgasmic spasms.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

“I knew you’d be smug. It can be a bit of an issue for a paraplegic. And there can be other issues as well. I can’t say I’ll always be able to do that.” Charles sighed. “More often than not, I won’t.”

“But when I come, you can go into my mind and feel it too, can’t you?”

“I can.” Charles stroked his hand down Erik’s back. “I’ve never done that with anyone else before,” he added. 

“You shouldn’t with anyone else but me,” Erik declared. 

“Are you sure you’re all right with it?” Charles asked. “From the start your entire reason for being skittish with me was that you didn’t want me in your head.”

“To an extent, you will be anyway, because of the bond,” Erik said, ignoring Charles’ describing his very valid objections and appropriately defensive strategic behavior as skittishness.

“Which you didn’t want,” Charles added.

“It eventually became clear to me it wasn’t optional,” Erik said. “Besides, I do want something like what my parents had, only I want to honor them by being able to save others. Which I can do here. With you. It’s really quite simple, Charles.”

“And… I’m sorry, how does this lead to you wanting me to be inside your head during your orgasms?”

“Like I said, you shouldn’t have to stifle your powers. Quite the opposite, you should exercise them.”

“Is it fair to say you care whether I feel good?”

Erik sighed. “I suppose. It makes things easier for me if you’re happy.”

Charles smiled. “It’s all right to want me to feel good, you know.” Erik bristled; “I know that” was on the tip of his tongue before Charles added, “I want that for you. I want you to feel safe and secure.”

“That’s your Guide gene.”

“My Guide gene is part of me. Like my telepathy is. Do you see now?” Erik realized Charles was still lightly stroking a hand down his back, soothing, like he was petting Erik. And it felt good. Erik had gone for long stretches of his life with little or no skin-to-skin contact, and getting it from his Guide fulfilled a strong need within him. The riot of his senses felt less chaotic, easier to control, with Charles in contact with him. 

And that, he supposed, was the point.

\-------

 _Erik, darling, when are you coming home?_ Charles asked over tea in his study during a break between classes. _I miss you terribly_.

He felt Erik’s brief but quickly stifled involuntary frisson of pleasure at Charles’ admission (hardly an admission, Charles thought, as it was the truth), followed by a huff of exasperation. _You had the option of coming_ , Erik reminded him.

 _Hardly my point_ , Charles told him, _and no, I couldn’t have come. I appreciated the invitation, but with the school now in session, if one of us is gone another must remain until we have adequate substitutes in place here to keep things running. And I believe you know that_.

 _I still think you could have come_ , Erik said. 

_So you do miss me, then_ , Charles teased. _The students miss how embarrassingly we moon over each other, you know_.

 _They do not_ , Erik retorted. _Besides, we serve as a positive example to them_.

_Do we? I wonder sometimes. Perhaps you’d better come home and prove it to me._

_Honestly, Charles. I’m not done here. There’s much more work to do._

_Do keep in touch_ , Charles told him. _You get carried away when you’re angry, you need me to help you channel it_. It had turned out to be even more difficult than he’d assumed to rein Erik in. Something in him still longed for destruction, to wipe out those who opposed him.

 _Yes, well_. Erik would only grudgingly admit that he valued Charles’ ability to help him control himself. Charles didn’t press the issue. It was still a tender point for Erik to accept that he needed someone else, as much as he might proclaim being all right with the circumstances. It was easier in bed, however.

Well, that was just making him miss Erik more, and he had a class to teach soon. _All right, I’ll let you get back to it. Come home soon, Erik_ , he said. He’d mentioned it three times, that was enough. _The better for me to suck your cock_. 

Erik huffed, and Charles chuckled to himself.

 _That spot on the side of your neck_ , Erik retorted, and Charles shivered just at the mention of it. 

Well. Let Erik enjoy having the last word, this time. Charles felt a flare of triumph from him as he ratcheted down the intensity of their connection in a sort of signing-off, sending a mental caress to Erik in parting before he was done.

Several hours later, Erik contacted him again. He was back in his study, where he had been drinking tea, reading, and waiting to hear from Erik, as he knew he would before they went to bed, regardless of how things were going. He’d kept the connection between them at a bare minimum, enough to make sure Erik wasn’t in deep physical distress. They’d found through trial and error that a higher level of involvement when it wasn’t necessary was counterproductive, and over time Erik was learning when to call for Charles’ aid.

 _I’ve found a child here, Charles_. 

_Is the child all right?_ Charles asked immediately. 

He started to make his way to the adjacent wing, to the installation they’d dubbed Cerebro, which enhanced Charles’ telepathic capabilities via a helmet lined with electrodes. While his bond with Erik spanned any distance, and his telepathy was enhanced by the bond to have a wider range than it would have otherwise, that was only as far as Erik was concerned—Charles needed a way to find a greater number of mutants, and so he and Hank and Moira had worked together to develop Cerebro (Erik had helped, of course, with the metal components—he’d been very on edge at the idea of Charles wearing some sort of powerful contraption and insisted on having a hand in making sure it was safe). They’d used it to great effect, having gathered roughly a score of young mutants over the past months in addition to the dozen or so Sentinels and Guides. Before they’d amassed enough to start having real classes, Charles had gone with Erik, but now Erik went on his own, although there were plans to have Moira or Hank in charge while Charles went with Erik once things were running smoothly.

 _I think he’s fine. Shaken, certainly._ Erik let his defenses lower, letting the bond and Charles’ telepathy in to assess him. 

_And you?_ Charles rewarded Erik for letting him in with another mental caress, sending him reassurance. _You seem a bit frazzled_.

At the mental touch, Erik’s frazzlement eased, but only slightly. _Charles, he’s a mutant_. That distracted Charles from taking more than a moment to appreciate the fact that Erik didn’t reflexively reply to Charles’ assessment by retorting that he wasn’t frazzled.

 _What makes you think so?_ Charles asked. 

_Well_. Despite his exhaustion, Erik’s mild amusement seeped into their connection. _He’s blue, and he has a tail_. He sounded a bit in awe.

_How interesting._

_Yes. He says he can teleport himself, but can’t take me with him. He’s not sure where to go around here, however. He’s not certain where we are._ Suddenly, there was a bolt of alarm through their connection. _I’ve closed us off in a stairwell and I heard a door opening above us. We’ll have to get out of here. Stay with me_ , he added.

 _Of course_ , Charles replied, focusing his attention on staying with Erik as he entered the room with Cerebro. _Amplify and hone your hearing, you’ll be able to tell how far away they are_.

 _Yes_. Erik sounded distracted. _It’s difficult, there are so many echoes in here. Our breathing and heartbeats are loud_.

 _Focus_ , Charles told him, gentle but firm, putting on the helmet. 

_A door just opened below us_ , Erik said. _They’re talking. They know the boy’s missing_.

 _How silently can you open the door you’re nearest to?_ Charles asked, inhaling as Cerebro kicked in, strengthening his powers including his telepathic contact with Erik to an indescribable degree. He could now sense the mutant boy Erik had found—

There was a sudden flash through their connection of Erik’s memory of slamming a heavy metal door when he was a child in a facility like this. Charles felt a flood of rushed, chaotic thoughts. While Erik could use an incredible amount of force to get himself and the boy out of there, the most important thing right now was to get out without being noticed. Drawing anyone into a confrontation was a last resort. Such avoidance was not Erik’s preferred method, but Charles had convinced him that it put those they were trying to rescue in too much peril. (Charles was just as concerned that it would make Erik even more of a target, but that didn’t seem to concern Erik as much.)

_Charles—_

_Calm your mind, darling. You can get out of there. Can the boy teleport to the ground floor, at least?_

There was a pause while Erik checked, and then a longer stretch of time. _He did. I told him to hide under the stairs. I’m holding all the other doors closed except for the landings where I think they’re looking for him. They’ll start walking soon enough; they’re still talking about what to do._

_Right, well, right now you only need to worry about the one below you._

_They’re coming up toward me._

_Open the closest door to them. They’ll stop to inspect it and hopefully go back in_.

Charles waited while Erik used his heightened hearing to gauge the approach. _Done. I’m going now while I have a chance_.

Moments later, a spark of Erik’s alarm crossed the connection. _They’re following me_.

 _Stop at the next landing_ , Charles told him.

What he was going to try would have to work, but only for seconds. Concentrating with his all, he used his enhanced telepathy through his bond with Erik as his Guide to control Erik’s power. Charles saw no other choice. 

Now, he was able to sense the iron in the blood of the two people who’d come after Erik. He opened the door to the landing and pushed them inside, wiped their minds of the memory of the past few minutes with his own ability, and slammed the door.

 _Go_ , he told Erik. _Quickly._

\-------

 _I didn’t need you to do that, Charles_ , Erik said, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he and the boy drove at top speed to Westchester. Erik’s heart was still pounding, but not from being in danger. He had fought in close quarters often enough. But he’d never had his powers taken over by another person. 

_I’m your Guide. I had the means to get you out of the situation_.

 _You said you’d never manipulate me against my will_.

With an air of patience, Charles said, _It wasn’t against your will—I stepped in to assist you with something you were trying to accomplish. And time was of the essence_. After a pause in which Erik said nothing, speechless with fury, he added, _I hope you can forgive me_.

 _We’ll talk when I get home_ , Erik gritted out, and then very deliberately put up a wall against Charles’ telepathy, which also dampened the bond between them. It was, of course, still there.

Erik turned his attention to the boy, who happened to speak German. They occupied their time on the drive talking about a great many things, from their favorite foods in the old country to memories of their families—not something Erik would freely talk about with many, but the boy’s strangeness, his quiet vulnerability, made Erik feel kindly toward him. He supposed they had a great deal in common. 

Many hours later, as they got closer to Westchester, Erik felt his Sentinel-based territoriality making itself known. Immediately after he felt that still-new but strong rush of _home_ , he remembered with chagrin that he was angry with Charles for his transgression. 

Charles was waiting for them just inside, and Erik stood aside, silent, as Charles welcomed the boy—Kurt—and sent him with Hank, who’d taken on the first teaching position here besides Charles’.

Charles gave him a look that reproached him for coming home without saying anything, which ticked up Erik’s anger another notch. “My study, please,” he said quietly, as though Erik were one of his students in need of a talking-to.

Without a word, Erik followed Charles. His exhaustion hit him as he sat heavily down on the leather couch.

“Are you going to use my powers on the door?” Erik asked. Charles simply gave him a look, and closed and locked the door by hand. 

“I hope you understand,” he said, wheeling over, “why I had to do that, earlier.”

“I don’t,” Erik replied. “You didn’t have to do that. You’re supposed to guide me, Charles, not take me over. You could have told me to do what you did through me and the results would have been the same.” He stared at the ceiling, not wanting to look at Charles, not now. And yet he’d missed him. The Sentinel in him longed to reach for his Guide, to be soothed by his touch. 

“There were split seconds in which to act,” Charles said. “It was faster, it avoided you having to be in any sort of hand-to-hand direct confrontation—”

“Which I could have dealt with!”

“I can’t put you at risk anymore than I have to! Erik, I’m your Guide. My instincts call me to protect you. I have resources, abilities, that can help me in that.”

“If this is about your ego as a Guide—”

“No more than yours as a Sentinel!” Charles raked a hand through his hair. “I understand your agitation, Erik, but as you said, you would have done the same thing—my doing it through you saved us precious seconds.”

“Stop trying to justify it, Charles. This is an overreach, and….” Exactly what Erik had been afraid of when he’d first started coming online. “I can’t forgive you for this. Not now.”

Abruptly, no longer able to sit here in the same room with Charles, Erik stood and walked past him, unlocking and opening the door with his ability. He left the door open as he walked through the entryway, letting Charles watch him go if he looked, and made the long trek upstairs to their bathroom, to shower off the grime of the trip and the ache in his bones. He still longed for Charles to soothe him even as he didn’t want Charles to come anywhere near him.

He fell asleep on their bed in his boxers, curled up on his side with his hair damp.

He woke up after night had fallen, and sensed Charles behind him, then felt Charles’ hand on his back, gently stroking his bare skin. Erik closed his eyes again; it felt so good, the skin-to-skin contact replenishing him, but by no means was he going to acknowledge it right now, or the fact that Charles was there. 

But Charles, of course, knew he was awake. “I’m glad you haven’t left,” he finally said into the silence between them.

Erik turned his face a little more toward the pillow. “This is as much my home as it is yours,” he replied, muffled. “You’re not going to drive me out.”

Charles sighed, hand stilling. “I wasn’t trying to—” He stopped abruptly, and then returned to stroking Erik’s back. “I’m sorry, Erik. I didn’t mean to, but I violated your trust today.”

Erik took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Charles continued, as Erik knew he would. “I can’t promise you I won’t help you to the best of my ability if I possibly can, however.”

“I won’t promise you I’ll never go on any more missions,” Erik shot back, turning over, Charles just putting his hand on Erik’s skin again as if it came naturally to him, shifting closer. “You knew what I was about from the start.”

“I won’t ask you not to go,” Charles said, “any more than you would ask me to suppress my abilities.”

Erik stared at him. 

“I love you,” Charles said, and Erik shrank back.

“That’s the bond talking,” he said dismissively, feeling hot all over like he did every time Charles told him he loved him. It was too much for Erik to believe, otherwise.

“It’s not,” Charles said, like he did every time. “Erik, I’ve been waiting for you all my life. I want to do right by you, I don’t want to mess this up. We are bonded. There’s nothing that can undo that.”

“But….” Erik supplied, because this was clearly leading up to a “but.”

“There’s no perfect answer for us,” Charles said. 

“I know that,” Erik said. “I’ve known that the entire time. That’s why I was so reluctant to—” Charles touched his hand to Erik’s neck, stroking his thumb over Erik’s jawline. “Charles—”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Charles said. “Please just understand. I can see the changes in you—you’re embracing being a Sentinel, you’re honing your powers, you’re doing beautifully here—I’m proud of you. I want to protect you.”

“You can’t.”

Charles didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. His hand stilled. But being Charles, he had to say something. “I suppose not,” he sighed. “I find that very distressing, but I suppose all I can do is… try.” That wasn’t going to be the end of it, Erik knew. They’d have this sort of discussion again in the future. Many times.

Charles sagged a little, and shifted closer to Erik, who felt a brief stirring of exasperation. Trust Charles to make him feel guilty after it was Charles who had committed a serious transgression.

“So you’re proud of me?” Erik murmured, putting an arm over Charles—damn it all, it did feel good to touch him.

Naturally, Charles understood the genuine need for affirmation disguised by Erik’s wry tone. “Very much so. You’re magnificent,” he replied, putting an arm over him, resting it lightly on Erik’s waist. Into their connection sank warmth and love, and Erik relented slightly and accepted it as it covered him, like a thick, soft blanket. He didn’t, however, say anything further, or forgive Charles. Somewhat mollified, however, he went back to sleep, conscious of Charles’ presence.

He woke up several hours later, to Charles’ midnight alarm that he set to make sure he turned himself. Used to it by now, Erik was drifting back to sleep when he realized Charles had moved further down the bed, and was pulling down Erik’s shorts just enough to let his cock spring free. Desperately trying to shrug off his grogginess, as Erik hardened with enough speed to feel lightheaded over it he struggled to move himself to a position that provided the most convenience for Charles.

 _It’s fine_ , Charles sent to him, one hand spreading out over Erik’s side to still him, the other wrapping around his cock with a sureness borne of months of practice in learning Erik. 

In the semi-dark, Erik’s enhanced senses served him well: he caught every nuance of his and Charles’ rasping breaths, the faint scent of Charles’ fresh sweat, the sleek feel of his hair in Erik’s clumsily grasping fingers.

With Charles’ mouth around his cock, his tongue stroking over him, the bond between them sang. Erik invited Charles into his mind, to witness his pleasure and share in it. Charles’ own enjoyment mixed into it all, his telepathy magnifying Erik’s pleasure and feeding it back to him: with embarrassing speed, Erik was on the edge. He was gasping, pulling mindlessly at Charles’ hair in time with the tight passes over his cock when Charles found his free hand and squeezed it, the warmth and assurance of the touch pouring into their connection. It was that as much as anything that made Erik come.

As soon as Charles relinquished him, Erik shifted down the bed before the shared pleasure started to ebb and kissed the side of Charles’ neck, taking him somewhat by surprise. Reacting immediately, Charles moaned, tilting his head and straining to offer up as much of the sensitive skin of his neck to Erik as he possibly could, hot against Erik’s lips as Erik kissed along his collarbone, tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat. Erik pinched one of his nipples, hard, making Charles gasp and clutch at him; in response, Erik bit gently at the side of Charles’ neck. Surrounded by his scent, Charles’ salt on his tongue—his senses were flooded with Charles. 

A firm scraping of Erik’s unshaven jaw over the nipped skin tipped Charles into a bursting paroxysm of pleasure, a bone-deep shudder he passed on to Erik in echoes both through their minds and through the way he pulled Erik as close to him as he could. 

_I missed you_ , Charles said some time later, not composed enough to speak aloud just yet, nuzzling into Erik’s neck. From his mind emanated a warm, profound contentment that seemed to thread itself into Erik’s thoughts. He continued, a hand stroking over Erik’s shoulders and back out of habit. _I’ll come with you on the next mission. Mutants, this time. And I think now we’ve amassed enough evidence on the experimentation to take it to the media. Expose what they’re doing. Turn things in our favor, at last. I’m sure we can do it, you and I_.

“Yes,” Erik said aloud, closing his eyes, taking another deep breath of Charles’ scent. “Together.”


End file.
